cT.1.22., 
 
 LIBRARY OF THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
 Purchased by the Hamill Missionary Fund. 
 
 Division, 
 
 Section.'. 
 
 XIS4S5' 
 
 B8ITS 
 
The Famous Shwe Dagon Pagoda, Rangoon. 
 
IN THE 
 
 Land of Pagodas 
 
 by 
 
 ROBERT B.'THURBER 
 
 SOUTHERN PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION 
 NASHVILLE. TENNESSEE 
 
 Fort Worth, Texas 
 
 Atlanta. Georgia 
 
Copyrighted 1921. by 
 Southern Publishing Association 
 Nashville, Tennessee 
 
To the valiant Christian youth 
 of America this little book is 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 with the hope of the author 
 that it may inspire in them 
 a love of those other youth 
 who live on the opposite side 
 o f the earth 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 
 
 https://archive.org/details/inlandofpagodas00thur_0 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I Called Over 9 
 
 II The Gate 21 
 
 III The Way In 35 
 
 IV Strangers Within . . . 57 
 
 V The Burman Himself — and Herself 69 
 
 VI The Way Up Country . . 84 
 
 VII Of the Burmans Burmese . .107 
 
 VIII The Lure in the Gospel Net . 132 
 
 IX The Tongue and the Script . .156 
 
 X The Fruits of the Ground . 170 
 
 XI The Beasts that Perish . .184 
 
 XII The Heat and the Hills . . 206 
 
 XIII Play Time 220 
 
 XIV The Industrial Method . . 244 
 
 XV The Everyday of Missionary Life 264 
 
 XVI The Rewards of Labor . . 280 
 
 XVII The Way Out 305 
 
 7 
 
A View of the Ilnrbor of Rangoon 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 CALLED OVER 
 
 A LITTLE party of eager missionaries, we 
 lined the rail of the Lunka as she plowed 
 her way through the yellow waters of the 
 Gulf of Martaban. Beckoned to the Orient to 
 answer insistent calls from newly opened fields, 
 we were at last on the very threshold of the 
 “silken East.” Home ties had been strained, 
 and were beginning to lose their pull, while 
 our eyes were longing to catch the first glimpse 
 of the land of our adoption. 
 
 The view was not assuring — as to scenery. 
 Our expectant gaze met low mud banks rising 
 out of the delta flood, a closer look descrying 
 them fringed with palm trees, whose spindling 
 trunks crisscrossed on the horizon line and 
 lifted wavy tufts into the shimmering heat 
 waves of the late afternoon. 
 
 Our steamer slowly swung in a gigantic arc 
 up toward a broad opening in the interminable 
 flats. The sea-gulls, welcomers to every coast, 
 wheeled and screamed about our heads. Away 
 
 9 
 
10 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 to the north a smoky mist shrouded the land, 
 seeming strangely out of keeping with the soft 
 sunset light that bathed the turbid waters 
 around us. 
 
 We were wondering what next after mud and 
 mist, when someone suddenly exclaimed, “Oh 
 look!” — and there, far ahead, rising sheer out 
 of the lowlands, a tapering shape towered from 
 the gloom that hid its base, its gilded point 
 catching a glint of the golden west. Dominat- 
 ing the entire landscape, the first object of inter- 
 est, it held our keen attention and started a 
 thought-train of wonder and curiosity. 
 
 Then at our side a fellow-traveler, who had 
 been over the way before, volunteered an ex- 
 planation: “The Shwe Dagon Pagoda, the 
 largest of its kind in the world. Among hundreds 
 of thousands of others it stands supreme. Its 
 top is over five hundred feet above the city 
 below. Its sides are partly covered with gold 
 plates; and parts of it were studded with jewels 
 in the old days. Some say they are still.” 
 
 We caught our breath with renewed interest, 
 and gazed long and fixedly at the far-away 
 shrine, utterly oblivious of our near approach to 
 the entrance of the Rangoon River. But twi- 
 light slowly settled down, shutting the great 
 tower from view. Now the river banks were 
 
Called Over 
 
 ii 
 
 close up and showed signs of human habita- 
 tion. Yet here were other pagodas of every 
 size, their tops peeping from behind clumps of 
 palms or bamboo and showing boldly white in 
 the thickening dusk, — every one a model of the 
 father of them all. Then the full realization 
 stole upon us that at last we were in “the land 
 of pagodas.” 
 
 It is a wonder country, is Burma. Once under 
 its spell, the lure of it is irresistable. With a 
 fair share of the sordid and the unbeautiful 
 common to every heathen land, yet it seems to 
 the traveler different from others, — and better. 
 
 Among the American missionaries entering 
 this far eastern country in the early years of the 
 present century were Heber H. Votaw and his 
 wife, sent out by the Seventh-day Adventist 
 Mission Board. Like Adoniram Judson, the 
 pioneer in this field, the Votaws did not start 
 for Burma. They had set their hearts cn India, 
 but God set their feet on Burma. And it was 
 not long before their vital interests were entirely 
 wrapped up in gospel endeavor for the attrac- 
 tive Burmese. 
 
 As the years passed, the little company grew 
 into a church in Rangoon, a parlor meeting- 
 place into a church hall, and two workers in- 
 creased to six, with some native helpers. This 
 
12 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 start was almost wholly among English-speak- 
 ing people. But the great Burmese Buddhist 
 population held out needy hands. The thou- 
 sands of simple-hearted Karen people of the 
 hills were open to the gospel truth; and there 
 was no school for the children and youth, the 
 most susceptible of all heathen to the uplift of 
 Christianity. Slowly the pleading need of a 
 school became a great burden to the mission- 
 aries, and found voice in earnest prayer to God 
 to open the way. There was no fund available 
 that might be tapped to start new enterprises, 
 for the Board was driven to refusing some pleas 
 because of the many from the world field. But 
 the school of their dreams and prayers did 
 materialize in a most providential way, and this 
 is its story. 
 
 While laboring in Rangoon, the Votaws 
 interested a number of telegraph operators in 
 their faith. The government owns the tele- 
 graph system in Burma, and employs a large 
 number of men in its various stations over the 
 country. When one of these operators was in 
 the midst of his study of the Bible truths pre- 
 sented by the Votaws, he was transferred to 
 Meiktila, in Upper Burma, a civil and military 
 center of about seven thousand people, situated 
 on the shore of a beautiful lake about three 
 
Called Over 
 
 13 
 
 4 
 
 A Typical City Street Scene Showing Indian Servants and Children 
 
14 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 hundred and twenty miles north of the metropo- 
 lis. This man and his wife began to tell their 
 neighbors some of the Bible truths they had 
 heard in the city. Two of these neighbors were 
 advocates (lawyers), one of them being in 
 government employ and a man of wide influence 
 and excellent reputation. 
 
 The telegraph operator was rather apathetic 
 then about the truths he had learned; but his 
 listening neighbors were anxious to know more. 
 So the missionaries in Rangoon were requested 
 to visit them and teach them the Bible. The 
 answering of this call provided an opportunity 
 for the weary workers to procure a change from 
 the humid, unhealthful atmosphere of Rangoon 
 at that season of the year, to the much dryer 
 climate of Meiktila. They were soon on the 
 ground, and their visit proved to be memorable. 
 The little group were ere long rejoicing in the 
 truth that moves men’s hearts. A. W. Steevens, 
 the government advocate, became an apostle of 
 the printed page, scattering at his own expense 
 large quantities of gospel literature over the 
 whole of the Indian Empire. The telegraph 
 operator now fills an important position in 
 Indian mission work. 
 
 But, the school. Among the acquaintances 
 of Mr. Steevens were prominent Buddhists who 
 
Called Over 
 
 15 
 
 were impressed, as he talked to them of his new 
 hope, by the health and educational phases of 
 the gospel the missionaries taught. A training 
 of the head, hand, and heart appealed to them, 
 especially that of the hand, for they saw in 
 this the hope of Burma. It is regrettable that 
 they did not have a higher motive also, but 
 so far this was a step in the right direction. The 
 Burmese people are losing favor with the 
 foreigner because the Burman as a rule will not 
 or can not learn the practical trades of modern 
 industry. Many foresighted Burmans of edu- 
 cation and culture are seeing the trend, and have 
 become alarmed. 
 
 “We want technical schools,” they said, 
 “ where our boys can learn trades. If you see a 
 Burman who is skilled in a practical trade you 
 may put it down that he is an ex-convict. A 
 native must commit a crime and be sent to jail 
 in order to learn a trade, for the jails and re- 
 formatories are the only places in the country 
 where trades are taught.” 
 
 They were so concerned that their boys receive 
 this all-round education, which we have been 
 more or less successful in carrying into practise 
 for so many years in America, that they offered 
 to help financially to establish a technical 
 school. To make good their offer they banded 
 
Beautiful Meiktila and the Lake, from the Top of an Old Pagoda 
 
Called Over 
 
 17 
 
 together, elected a chairman and a secretary - 
 treasurer, and started a subscription paper. 
 In a very short time the fund thus raised grew 
 to several hundred rupees. (A rupee is about a 
 third of an American dollar.) This was an 
 unusually bold move, for the Buddhists generally 
 are suspicious of Christian missionary proposi- 
 tions. Then the missionaries were urged to do 
 their part, and to make good the gospel of 
 symmetrical education. 
 
 Such an opening could not be ignored. But 
 with all the goodwill and help of local enthu- 
 siasts, to start such an enterprise would involve 
 great expense on the part of the Mission. And 
 there was no provision in the budget for a school 
 in Burma; and to all appearances there was not 
 likely to be for some time. It was a perplexing 
 question. There was but one thing to do, — 
 appeal to the Board at home for permission to 
 advance, and for aid for the promising project. 
 
 The time was on the eve of the General 
 Conference of 1909, to be held in Washington, 
 D. C. Convinced that a plea for this school and 
 also for help to start work among the Karen 
 tribes of the country, should be presented in 
 person to give it adequate force, our pioneer, 
 after overcoming many obstacles that stood in 
 the way, took passage for the homeland, and 
 
1 8 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 unexpectedly appeared to attend the session of 
 the Conference. He was given a little time at the 
 close of the report from India to speak for his 
 field, and he made the most of the opportunity. 
 Beginning with a brief description of the land 
 and the people, he grew enthusiastic as he recited 
 the encouraging progress of the work, and 
 eloquent as he pleaded for a quick supplying of 
 Burma’s crying needs. One of these needs was 
 set forth in a clarion call for an educator. 
 
 “We need a qualified school man,’’ said the 
 speaker, “one who has been educated in ‘the 
 university of hard knocks.’ Some of the most 
 prominent Buddhists of Upper Burma have 
 besought us to start a school for their youth, 
 where manual training shall be given. The 
 mission schools of other churches are following 
 the government curriculum for the sake of 
 government grants-in-aid. So much is required 
 by the government before this financial help is 
 given, that the schools are unable to give any- 
 thing like adequate instruction in Christianity. 
 The people who are calling for us are willing to 
 help to the best of their ability in a financial 
 way. They have promised to work in every' 
 way they can to make the school a success. 
 May God impress some strong young man and 
 wife to volunteer for this work. 
 
Called Over 
 
 19 
 
 “All Burma is aquiver today, on tiptoe with 
 expectancy and anxiety. Since I have seen the 
 marvelous manner in which news travels there, 
 I am persuaded that the gospel can be quickly 
 given. It is a matter of continual wonder to 
 us how rapidly events of all sorts become known 
 to those illiterate millions. But one thing that I 
 have ever seen seems to me to be a fit illustration 
 of the swiftness with which the knowledge of 
 the happenings of the day is passed from mouth 
 to mouth. How distinctly I remember that day 
 years ago when with blanched faces the dwellers 
 in a little frame house, set far out on the prairie, 
 began to labor with eager, feverish haste to 
 protect their home from the dreaded prairie 
 fire. But the rolling, bounding flames gave little 
 time. They were driven by the wind, and what 
 was the puny work of man to stop them! And 
 Christ has compared the workings of his Spirit 
 to the blowing of the wind. So when the Spirit 
 of the Lord of hosts has breathed upon his 
 people and the nations, I am sure that the gospel 
 will sweep across India and Burma with mighty 
 triumph, burning away every barrier which 
 Satan has erected to stay its progress. Let us 
 be ready against that day.” 
 
 The writer of these lines sat within the sound 
 of that summons to achievement for God in the 
 
20 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 foreign field, — sat all tense with the gripping 
 entreaty of it And his heart had no other 
 answer than, “Send me.” 
 
 So a few months later found us about to enter 
 the gate of “the land of pagodas.” And as we 
 strode down the gangplank into the rabble of 
 coolies, and trod the historic soil where many a 
 missionary hero and heroine lived and worked 
 and died, we were exceeding glad for what the 
 future held in store. Nothing exceeds the ardor 
 of youth in the face of Christian service. 
 
 In the narrative and description which follow 
 we record experiences as they came to us. Our 
 way led through the port of entry; into direct 
 touch with the cosmopolitan crowd with its 
 strange dress, customs, and religions; on up 
 country to the scene of our labors, deep into the 
 intricacies of the languages and mission prob- 
 lems; through struggles, sickness, disappoint- 
 ments; to overweights of joy in hearts won for 
 Christ. We invite the reader to wonder with us 
 at the strange and curious, reflect our smiles at 
 the amusing, share with us our depression when 
 the clouds hung low, and joy in our fruition 
 when the tasks were finished. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE GATE 
 
 T HE giant Irrawaddy washed a hundred 
 soils from remote banks, and east them 
 mixed mud at its mouth. In this mud 
 men laid the foundations of Rangoon. The 
 races which swarm over the city are as varied 
 and blended and plastic as the mud on which 
 it stands. A city cosmopolitan indeed is this. 
 Other cities may have all the other species of 
 mankind, but they lack the picturesque Burman, 
 for he is a home body. Rangoon has all races, 
 to the extent of almost crowding out the sons 
 of the soil. The sights and sounds and smells of 
 both worlds here mingle in bewildering disorder. 
 
 The gold, silver, precious stones, and silks, 
 which in other nations are hoarded and hid, are 
 in this nation spread to the gaze of the throng. 
 And the greedy, the thrifty, and the industrious 
 of all climes flock to the golden show for a part 
 in the division of the spoil. The laughing, care- 
 free people view with equanimity their glory 
 flow into the coffers of strangers, and Burma 
 
 21 
 
An Attractive Kangoon HtiMineas Street with Burinunt* to the Front 
 
The Gate 
 
 23 
 
 complacently surrenders her wealth-right to 
 the passer-by. 
 
 The immigrants land at the port of Rangoon, 
 and many of them stick there and cast their lot 
 with the common run. They have come to a 
 land of opportunity compared with other coun- 
 tries of the East. For here are fertile soils, rich 
 minerals, and abundance of trade, with no fate- 
 ful caste system as in India, no unsettling 
 revolutions as in China, no burdensome taxes as 
 in Japan. But do not mistake. The country 
 is not rich in the real sense. What is here, 
 however, is all on the surface, as far as the 
 Burman is concerned. He doesn’t put his 
 wealth in a stocking — no napkined talents for 
 him. It goes into his stomach and onto his 
 back. But he leads the simple life, and is happy, 
 so happy! After all, what do those who hoard 
 desire more than this? 
 
 Rangoon is not Burma. First it is India, then 
 China, then all the Orient, then Europe and 
 America. The Burmese are its ornaments; and 
 their towering golden pagoda, the attractive 
 feature of many a beautiful vista, represents a 
 people and a religion which are fast weakening 
 under the influences of the spirit of the West. 
 
 Shall we “see the sights”? The very modern 
 electric qar on which we ride takes the corner 
 
24 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 with a shriek as we turn into Dalhousie Street. 
 The stone pavement is just ceasing to throw 
 back the sun’s glare. It now steams in its 
 Turkish bath as the water-carriers muddy its 
 back. Our conveyance seems strangely out of 
 place among the primitive men and methods. 
 Look at the motor-man on our car. He wears a 
 semi-European suit of dark green cloth, of the 
 pea-jacket, high-water variety, bounded below 
 by bare feet and above by long oily hair, roughly 
 done up, turnip shape, under a little red fez. 
 The man who collects fares is, like the other, a 
 native of India, and is dressed identically the 
 same. He is just learning to count money, and 
 may shortchange us; but never mind, the 
 passengers are only too willing to help him. 
 The car company should not lose by his ignor- 
 ance, for at his elbow is a subinspector; and 
 soon an inspector will cast his critical eye on 
 him and us, and in turn will cower before the 
 chief inspector. These inspectors ride at inter- 
 vals on all cars, and watch with eagle eyes. 
 Our tickets are punched and punched and 
 punched. While we are trying to recall some 
 lines about “other fleas to bite ’em,” the gong 
 clangs loudly, and we peer ahead to see three 
 stalwart coolies making frantic but slow efforts 
 to tug their high-wheeled, heavily loaded cart 
 
The Gate 
 
 off the track. A line of shoulder-pole carriers 
 string by with their labored swing, taking rice 
 from the wharf to the warehouse, where the 
 sign, “All kinds, good rice, cheaply, for sale,’' 
 does its duty in attracting the attention of the 
 English-speaking public. 
 
 Farther on, the wide street presents an un- 
 broken mass of conglomerate humanity. Bur- 
 mese women gossip at the house doors, while 
 their children dodge among the crowds afoot. 
 Chinese workman, plying any and every trade, 
 sit cross-legged on the sidewalk or at their 
 shop fronts. The curb is lined with various 
 business contrivances dignified by the name of 
 shop, from a little basket at a corner, with a 
 woman squatting behind it, to the Chinese 
 restaurant-keeper, with his long table, furnace, 
 cooks, and waiters, serving eatables by wholesale. 
 
 Beyond the curb, confusion inextricable — 
 cars, bicycles, motors, carts, carriages, rick- 
 shaws, and luckless pedestrians — where a colli- 
 sion means a fight and a miss is good for a 
 smile. In the center, at cross streets, towers a 
 turbaned Punjabi policeman — supposed to pre- 
 serve order. His huge stature and dignified 
 demeanor give him immunity from danger; and 
 there he poses, well-nigh oblivious to all that 
 chatters and clatters past. 
 
26 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Bamboo Scaffolding to Give the Big Pagoda a New Coat of Gold Leaf 
 
The Gate 
 
 27 
 
 The evening is the joy-time of the day, and 
 each one takes his “constitutional” as suits him 
 best. But what a multitude there is! One 
 writer has called them “food for census,” and 
 that idea presses in upon us in spite of our 
 efforts at singling out a few. They are lumped 
 off in the mass, like so many clods of earth, — 
 different, but who cares? Yet each one has an 
 individuality — and a soul. 
 
 This is where the “other half lives”; it would 
 require volumes to tell how they live. Even 
 those who have been long on the ground some- 
 times wonder whether they know the people or 
 not. In the turmoil of the seething millions of 
 the East, one sees the crowd, but it is difficult 
 to see one. At every dwelling it seems as if 
 all the folk are at home, and relatives and 
 friends are visiting them. 
 
 We alight and meander through the “night 
 bazaar.” Scores of temporary stalls pack the 
 curb of the wide sidewalks, and the night is 
 aglare with gaudy lights. Here is great assort- 
 ment, from pins and peanuts to beds and 
 blankets. This fellow with the file-rasping 
 voice makes our passing hideous with “Ek 
 rupaya kamal, ehay paisa, chay paisa, ehay 
 paisa!” (“A thing worth 32 cents for three 
 cents,” a tricky appeal to the gambling in- 
 
28 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 stinct of the Burman). This is the time and the 
 place to palm off the defective and tinseled 
 articles whose defects are unnoticed, and whose 
 tinsel shows golden in the glaring light. We 
 know this, yet we are drawn on by a lure in- 
 explainable to see what is not worth seeing, and 
 to buy what we do not want. A week ago we 
 asked at one stall for a towel, and — it must 
 have been published in a newspaper which all 
 read, with our likenesses attached — now towels 
 are thrust at us at every turn all along the line. 
 Towels call us, towels spread before us, towels 
 flap in our faces, towels shout after us. But 
 there is method is this. For we buy, and why? 
 — to distract attention, or to satisfy onlookers 
 that we use such articles, or to show that we 
 have the money? It may be for any of these 
 reasons more than because we really need the 
 towel. With half disgust we turn away, and 
 wish not to look at a towel for a week. Yet 
 we are not to be let off, for soap and brushes 
 must needs go with a towel, and these are 
 urged at below-cost prices. We are led to believe 
 that the motto of these men must be, “Per- 
 sistency, thou art a jewel.’’ There is an end, 
 however; and at last we extricate ourselves, 
 and the gloom envelops us as we start for 
 home. 
 
The Gate 
 
 2Q 
 
 The morning draws us to the bazaar for the 
 day’s food supply. Most of the shop-men are 
 Indians, not Burmans; and of the few Burmans 
 nearly all are women. A dozen boy coolies, with 
 baskets, surround us away up the street. We 
 select one lank fellow with a smile, a good 
 knowledge of prices, and a poor knowledge of 
 English. A friend had an amusing experience 
 with one of these “basket wallahs.” They 
 often use English in the idiom of their own 
 language. With them there is no difference in 
 the way they say “ too much ” and “ very much. ” 
 This boy said that what the sahib was buying 
 was “too nice.” My friend told him that 
 “too nice” means nicer than it should be, and 
 that it really couldn’t be “too nice.” “Well,” 
 returned the boy, “One nice, then.” 
 
 Did you ever bargain? I mean, juggle prices 
 with a merchant. If you haven’t, you have 
 missed — shall I say a joy? There are few one- 
 price dealers here. A native’s asking price is 
 not his selling price; and usually the latter is 
 one-fourth or one-third of the former. It is a 
 habit that many of them would gladly break 
 away from; but, like the tipping habit, 
 it sticks. Says the shopkeeper: “What can 
 do, sir? Master asking price, sir. If I say 
 proper price, sir, Master no buy. Master ex- 
 
jo In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 pects less, sir. If no sell for less, sir, no can 
 sell, sir. ” 
 
 To beat a man down in his price is always 
 a necessity, and never a hardship for the man; 
 for, unless the buyer knows the right price, the 
 crafty merchant is sure to get more than the 
 article is worth. And if you do not know the 
 price, he is a sharp enough student of human 
 nature to find it out, in spite of evasive ques- 
 tions and answers. Every purchase involves a 
 battle of wits. At first the newcomer finds 
 it difficult, but later it changes to a pleasurable 
 habit which holds such a fascination that one 
 actually wonders if ever he can feel satisfied 
 to buy from a merchant who will not lower 
 his price. But before the trick is learned, the 
 novice has many a crestfallen experience of 
 seeming to triumph at a low figure, and later 
 finding he has paid two prices for his purchase. 
 This is the usual haggle: — 
 
 “What’s the price of these guavas?” 
 
 “Ten for six annas, sahib.” 
 
 “What? Say, if I wanted to get rich, I’d 
 start a shop here and rob people as you do. 
 Tell the proper price. I’ll give you two annas. ” 
 “Nay, sahib, nay,” laughing, “Five annas 
 proper price.” 
 
 “Will you take two annas?” 
 
The Gate 
 
 3i 
 
 A View Among; the Royal Lakes, with Shwe Dagon in the Distance 
 
32 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 “Nay, sahib, cost four annas.’’ 
 
 “No, they don’t; you know you can buy them 
 for one anna.” 
 
 You start away, and he says, “Four annas, 
 sahib, and no profit.” You continue, and he 
 shouts for you to come back at four annas. 
 You call that you will give three annas. He 
 refuses, but when you are out of sight and hear- 
 ing he sends a boy running after you to accept 
 your three annas. Of course you return and pay 
 the three annas, and perhaps are discomfited to 
 see him chuckle at the prospect of a good profit. 
 But if you win there is a fascination about it, 
 because it brings a consciousness of superiority. 
 
 The bazaar is huge, and offers for sale almost 
 every article which the East and West produce. 
 Prices range widely, from trivial eatables which 
 are almost as cheap as the handful of earth 
 from which they grew, to fancy tinned and 
 bottled imported stuffs. We hold our noses 
 while passing through the meat and fish depart- 
 ments, sneeze in the spice-room, and are prodigal 
 with our eyes among the silks. All this is 
 sordid, but it is Rangoon. 
 
 Another day we break away and breathe free 
 at the Royal Lakes Park. This beautiful re- 
 treat provides the lungs of the city. In the 
 rainy season the gentle slopes are a lavish 
 
The Gate 
 
 33 
 
 green, but the dry season sees hosts of coolies 
 deluging them in a vain effort to coax the 
 dying year into a “green old age.” The roads 
 hum to the tune of the motor-car, and happy 
 picnicing children sport in the groves. The 
 golden crown of the view is the towering sharp- 
 ness of the Shwe Dagon Pagoda, its sleek 
 descent throwing back a dazzling glitter to the 
 tropic sun. 
 
 Rangoon contains only a quarter-million peo- 
 ple, but all these are in evidence. The English 
 rulers, comfortably parked in their own section, 
 sway the fortunes of Burma’s metropolis with 
 beneficent justice. The strongest and lowest 
 passions of thousands of debased human beings 
 here find vent ; but storms are brief, and Oriental 
 lethargy r binds all minds in a magical spell, 
 whose power Occidental minds sense, but will 
 always stop short of experiencing. 
 
 2 
 
In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 One of the Ways up the Hill to the Pagod; 
 
Chapter III 
 
 THE WAY IN 
 
 T HE way into Buraia is among the pagodas; 
 and the way into the heart and mind of 
 a Burman is through an understanding of 
 the point of view of the religion of the pagodas, 
 — Buddhism. A tarrying in Rangoon means a 
 visit to the great pagoda that overtops the city 
 and appears in the distance of every beautiful 
 view which the port affords. The first sight of 
 it from far down the river is a more than suffi- 
 cient stimulus to closer investigation. 
 
 We started for the noted shrine armed 
 with a wealth of curiosity to learn all we could 
 about Buddhism in general and pagodas in 
 particular — and we returned satisfied. A friendly 
 Burmese guide to accompany us, and a willing- 
 ness on the part of the caretakers of the place 
 to impart information, supplied an answer to 
 evety question that arose. We shall take oc- 
 casion to introduce our readers to the heart of 
 Buddhism as we proceed. 
 
 Alighting from a car at the foot of the steep- 
 
j6 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 sloping artificial hill, we were at once awed by 
 two gigantic images of lion-like animals with 
 gaping mouths, which sat on their haunches on 
 either side of the stairway. But some Burmese 
 boys playing gleefully on the toes of the huge 
 beasts tended to reassure us. Like Bunyan’s 
 pilgrim, we were soon past the lions in the way, 
 and climbing the broad stone steps, hallowed — 
 yes, and hollowed — by the patter of many de- 
 voted feet. 
 
 The ascent is tiresome, but not without di- 
 version. We may buy candles, flowers, toys, 
 gold leaf, and trinkets of all sorts at the booths 
 that flank the upper steps; or we may rest on 
 some crude seats and look out over the city; 
 but we hasten on to the top, for there is much 
 to see, and tell. 
 
 The last step upward discovers a level plateau 
 about the size of a city block, with the tall 
 Shwe Dagon in its center. Around the base of 
 the immense tower is a paved circle, somewhat 
 irregular, and hemming this in on all sides are 
 structures of every conceivable shape and na- 
 ture, — scores of little pagodas, roofed-over 
 shrines, images in barred cages, rest houses, 
 flower and trinket shops, bells, platforms, poles, 
 pillars, glass cases with relics, decorations in 
 endless variety — all in the utmost disorder as to 
 
The Way In 
 
 37 
 
 Among the 
 Mountains 
 of Burma 
 
 Pagodas 
 Built on 
 Famous 
 Balanced 
 Rocks — 
 
38 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 arrangement. It looks as if every particular 
 ornament had been erected by a separate person 
 and each had placed his where it suited him 
 best. The meaning of all these will become 
 more evident as we delve into the mysteries of 
 the religion. 
 
 Now a pagoda is a pile of rice with a lotus 
 bud stuck in the peak of it. 
 
 At least it is said that is how the idea of its 
 form originated. Whatever its fashion in other 
 Buddhist lands, this is its characteristic contour 
 in the land of pagodas. It is round, large at the 
 base and small at the top, ending in a point. 
 The sides curve inward and are not smooth, but 
 rise in irregular swells, or “collars.” And just 
 below the top is a bulge, the lotus-bud effect. 
 At the very apex a htee (umbrella) is fixed, which 
 has the shape of an ordinary parasol one-fourth 
 open, and is usually made of metal plated with 
 gilt or gold. The edges of the htee have dangling 
 from them little bells or pieces of metal and 
 glass, and these tinkle musically in the pass- 
 ing breeze. 
 
 But what is a pagoda, and what is it for? 
 It isn’t a church or a temple, for it is solid 
 throughout, and thus there is no going into it. 
 It isn’t a tomb, like the pyramids of Egypt, for 
 no one is buried under it. It isn’t a monument 
 
The Way In jg 
 
 to commemorate some event, although some 
 famous pagodas hark back to some legendary 
 event for the purpose of their founding. Nor 
 are the pagodas, except in very rare cases, built 
 in memory of a man, although individual men 
 and families often erect them. They are not 
 limited to number, for hundreds of thousands of 
 them encumber the land; nor to place, for they 
 obtrude into every vista and are found every- 
 where, from the shelf behind the door or in a 
 man’s pocket to the top of the highest hill and 
 on well-nigh inaccessible rocks in the mountains ; 
 nor to size, for they vary from watchcharms to 
 the gigantic Shwe Dagon, reaching 370 feet 
 above its platform of 166 feet. 
 
 A pagoda is a shrine, erected originally over 
 sacred relics, such as a hair or a tooth of Gautama 
 the Good (Buddha) of far renown ; or it may be 
 built over images or books inclosed in a chamber 
 in the center of the foundation. As there are 
 not enough relics to supply the large number of 
 pagodas built, imitations of real relics are put 
 in. Every village has at least one pagoda, and 
 in many villages there is a group of them, in 
 all stages of decay. This is the sacred center, 
 and here the faithful assemble for the various 
 religious duties. The word pagoda is not used 
 by the Burmans, for the people call the struc- 
 ture paya (lord). 
 
40 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Pagodas Everywhere 
 
 Each of these unique shrines was built by some 
 man or group of men to get merit. It is the 
 most meritorious act that can possibly be per- 
 
The Way In 
 
 4i 
 
 formed, and insures the builder at his death an 
 immediate entrance into the highest form of 
 heavenly rest. Hence the large number of 
 pagodas. The merit is granted according to 
 the goodness of the one to whom the pagoda 
 is dedicated, and not according to the character 
 of the builder. So rich men who can build big 
 get the most merit, regardless of their char- 
 acters. No merit accrues to anyone who 
 repairs a pagoda, except those of great note, 
 repair-merit going to the original builder. Con- 
 sequently there is little repairing done, thou- 
 sands of the structures are in ruins, and new 
 ones are being built all the time. They cumber 
 the ground in the crowded land; and sometimes 
 when no one is looking a sacreligious farmer 
 does not hesitate to topple a small one over and 
 put the ground into crops. The material of 
 their building is flat bricks and mortar. The 
 whole is plastered on the outside and covered 
 with whitewash or gold leaf, according to the 
 affluence of the giver. However, since but few 
 ruins are ever removed, besides being a land of 
 pagodas, Burma is a land of brush-covered 
 brick piles. 
 
 Perhaps even more numerous, but less con- 
 spicuous, than the pagodas are the myriad 
 images of Buddha seen everywhere throughout 
 
42 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 the country. The manufacture of these idols is 
 a recognized craft, and excellent indeed is the 
 workmanship displayed on many of them. 
 Sculptured in alabaster and marble, or moulded 
 in shining brass, they are things of beauty com- 
 pared with the hideous gods of Hinduism. 
 
 You may have a Buddha of pocket-size at a pit- 
 tance of a price ; or may make a pilgrimage to a 
 famous shrine and gaze with awe at an enormous 
 
 A Land of Brush-covered Brick Piles 
 
 likeness of Gautama the Good towering many 
 feet into the air. Clustered about the feet of 
 pagodas, housed under little roofs at the road- 
 side, and perched in the recesses of the hills, — - 
 from every corner images of the famous hero of 
 
The Way In 43 
 
 righteousness look out upon the world with 
 serene apathy. 
 
 The image-maker may not try his skill in 
 varying the form and features of his product. 
 Every Buddha looks just as nearly like all the 
 others as expert imitators can make it. The 
 figure sits tailor fashion, with the sole of one 
 foot turned upward. The long-fingered hands 
 rest quietly on the lap. The body is draped in 
 a plain priestly robe with a sort of turban for 
 a head covering. The lobes of the ears reach 
 to the shoulders. 
 
 There are a few noted exceptions to the 
 conventional seated image, the most widely 
 known being the standing Buddhas of Pagan 
 and the huge reclining Buddha of Pegu. The 
 latter dates from ancient times, and for many 
 years it seems to have been lost even to the 
 Burmans themselves, big as it is. It was found 
 accidentally while engineers were prospecting for 
 a railroad. The undergrowth covering it was 
 removed, and now it can be seen from the train 
 as it sleepily smiles on the passer-by. It is 
 known as the dying Buddha, and is said to be 
 the largest statue of a human being in the 
 world, measuring 180 feet long and 46 feet 
 high at the shoulders. Several persons might 
 comfortably sleep on its ear lobes. 
 
44 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
The Way In 
 
 45 
 
 The faces of these Buddhas naturally draw 
 attention. Plainly Mongolian in form, the 
 features are pasty and expressionless. Yet 
 there is a beatific, half-serious, half-smirky smile 
 that rests about the mouth which impresses 
 the stranger that the original was very con- 
 scious of a passive, meditative goodness within. 
 There is nothing that is repulsive about the 
 whole figure, a little that is admirable, and 
 much that is weak. It is meant to show the 
 saint in deep contemplation of great good. 
 
 Such was the posture and benign look of the 
 divinely-human Gautama, according to tra- 
 dition ; and in imitation of his serenity his fol- 
 lowers today longingly seek the greatest peace 
 of heart possible to mankind. Is it any wonder 
 that his constant worshipers grow to look like 
 him, and that the peaceful Burmese face is a 
 picture of the hero of Burma’s religion? 
 
 Burmese people dearly love bells, and no 
 religious center is without them. They tinkle 
 and ring and boom as wind or worshiper supply 
 them power. They range in size from the tiny 
 silver ones on the fringes of the pagoda htees 
 to the enormous Mengon bell, second in size 
 in the world and the largest suspended bell 
 known. 
 
 The bells of Burma are not cast in such 
 
46 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 beautiful curves as the ones the Westerner 
 makes, but they send forth sweet tones. The big 
 ones are not set high in towers, nor do they have 
 clappers dangling from their centers. They are 
 suspended within reach of all, and a mallet is 
 usually provided for the tapping. All bells are 
 consecrated to religion, and are used for no 
 other purpose. 
 
 Surely it must be that the devotees of Guatama 
 need to be called often and insistently to wor- 
 ship, seeing that there are so many bells. But 
 not so; for the Buddhist must come to his wor- 
 ship, if he comes at all, without being called. 
 He knows his duty and after he has said his 
 prayer and given his offering he proceeds to 
 tap the bells to call the attention of the good 
 spirits to what he has done. We visitors often 
 took a hand in hammering on the bells, for the 
 more they are rung the better, no matter who 
 does the tapping. However, in the case of the 
 largest ones a curious investigator concludes 
 that a steam hammer would be required to bring 
 a sound from them, — especially the famous one 
 at Mengon. 
 
 Buddhism is kept alive by the pongyis, or 
 priests, and the foreigner in Burma is impressed 
 that there are enough of them. Pongyis are the 
 members of a religious order who have given 
 
The Way In 
 
 47 
 
 The Famous Dying Buddha of Pegu 
 
 themselves as followers of the lord Buddha in 
 seeking a perfect life. In the large cities they 
 
48 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 number into the thousands, and even the 
 smallest village has its collection of yellow- 
 robed, shaven-headed figures living on the hospi- 
 tality of the people. Their dull dress represents 
 the rags of poverty and the individual pongyi 
 can possess nothing, not even the smallest coin, 
 though his order may be increased with goods. 
 
 The pongyis are not ministers in any sense. 
 It is not at all their business to help others, 
 either bodily or spiritually. Cutting them- 
 selves off from the world by poverty, celibacy, 
 and idleness, they spend their time concentrat- 
 ing their minds on supreme righteousness. They 
 confer a great favor on the mourners by attend- 
 ing a funeral, and they give opportunity to all to 
 gain special merit in religion as they go about 
 from door to door with their begging bowls and 
 allow the people to put food therein. Does the 
 foreigner say they beg? They no more beg 
 than a bank president begs who saves your 
 money for you. 
 
 There is much good to be seen in the pongyis, 
 for they are in the main pure, and hold strictly 
 to their vows. They inculcate charity and 
 hospitality in the people, and maintain a com- 
 mendable peace of mind in an otherwise heed- 
 less and headlong generation. 
 
 Be it known that all Buddhist males are at 
 
The Way In 
 
 40 
 
 some time consecrated to the priesthood, but 
 most of them do not go on to become pongyis in 
 reality. Those who continue in the sacred work 
 are too likely to be of the lazy sort who prefer 
 idleness to an active life. Yet they make some 
 remarkable sacrifices. They live in monasteries 
 called kyaungs situated near the pagoda centers 
 and apart from the dwellings of the common 
 people. These monasteries are the most elabo- 
 rate and costly buildings in the community ; but 
 withal the pongyi lives the simple life. 
 
 Cleared of vague philosophies and disputed 
 points here is the story of Buddhism: 
 
 Many centuries ago a young prince in India, 
 named Gautama, became suddenly aware that 
 this world is full of death, disease, and suffering. 
 He had been shielded by his parents from viewing 
 anything that would cause him pain of heart, 
 until he was a young man. Then on a ride 
 through the country he saw human sufferings as 
 only India can show it. Thereupon he left his 
 home and riches and started out to find a cure 
 for the troubles of existence. After years of 
 solitary meditation he is said to have found the 
 secret of life and the one method of gaining 
 supreme happiness. He took the title of Buddha 
 (lord) and went forth gathering disciples and 
 teaching his belief. Being purer than Hinduism, 
 
50 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Buddhism spread throughout India and gained 
 millions of adherents. But later it was driven 
 out of the Indian peninsula, seeming better 
 suited to the Mongolian peoples to the east and 
 north. Now it flourishes in Burma, Siam, 
 China, and Japan. 
 
 Gautama did not claim, nor is it claimed for 
 him, that he is or was a god. He simply found 
 the way for human beings to reach peace of soul 
 and reached it himself. Buddhists claim that 
 he is not worshiped as a god, and although there 
 are millions of images of him, and people wor- 
 ship before them, it is said that this is no more 
 idolatry than is our worshiping in the presence 
 of the picture of Christ on our church walls 
 or windows. 
 
 Everyone naturally wants to know what 
 Gautama’s secret of life and happiness is. In 
 short, it may be expressed thus: Peace and 
 happiness are found in long-continued and 
 intense contemplation of good. That is, if you 
 would be happy, go apart from other men and 
 do nothing but think about and desire righteous- 
 ness till you become righteous. The Christian 
 knows that the world has tried this plan many 
 times in its history, and has found it wanting. 
 
 Gautama taught that all living things are on a 
 series of steps, the highest forms above and the 
 

 The Way In 
 
 5i 
 
 A Group of the Priestly Class, Showing Three Stages in the 
 Development of its Members 
 
 lowest, below. Every human being is born ^ 
 somewhere on this ladder of existence. In- 
 separably connected with existence is pain. 
 
 
52 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 The lower orders suffer most, the higher orders 
 least, and the only way to be free from pain is to 
 cease to exist, that is, to keep on ascending the 
 ladder till the top is reached. The state into 
 which one enters at the top of the ladder is 
 called Neikban. Yet the Buddhist says that 
 this ceasing to exist is not annihilation. In fact, 
 it is difficult for anyone to explain just what it is. 
 This is the way one writer describes it: 
 
 “ He falls into a calm and never-ending cessa- 
 tion of existence. He knows nothing of others, 
 nor of the world, and so is a stranger to all 
 feelings of joy and sorrow. He contemplates 
 fixedly the abstract truth. He remains per- 
 petually in a sacred calm, unmoved by any 
 feeling whatever, in lifeless, timeless bliss.” 
 This is the Buddhist’s ideal of heaven, but to 
 the Christian it does not appeal as being de- 
 sirable. 
 
 The lower steps of existence are terrible hells 
 in which men suffer the most awful tortures. 
 The teaching is that everyone has many lives, 
 and at the end of each life they are immediately 
 born into a lower or higher order of existence, 
 according as they are bad or good. This trans- 
 migration of souls is a strong belief. Burmese 
 nursery tales and schoolbook stories are many 
 of them based on the idea. One such reads 
 somewhat like this: 
 
The Way In 
 
 ■53 
 
 Once upon a time a school master was out 
 walking with his pupils, and they came to where 
 a herd of goats was feeding. There was one goat 
 that seemed to be the leader of the herd ; and 
 the boys asked their master if they might stone 
 this goat to death. He consented; but as the 
 boys ran for stones, he was surprised to see that 
 the goat was laughing. He asked the goat the 
 cause of his laughter, and the goat said, “Long 
 ago I was a school master, and was one day 
 out walking with my pupils. We met a herd 
 of goats, of which one goat seemed to be the 
 leader. The boys asked if they might stone the 
 goat and I consented. They killed the animal, 
 and for the sin of taking its life I was condemned 
 to live ninety-nine goat-lives. I am in my 
 ninety-ninth life now, and as soon as the boys 
 stone me to death I will take your place and you 
 will take mine.” Needless to say, the boys 
 did not stone the goat. 
 
 The way up the ladder of existence is won by 
 meritorious acts, the requirements of which are 
 plainly laid down in the Buddhist law. They 
 correspond in some degree to our ten command- 
 ments; and the followers of Jesus see much in 
 the precepts of Gautama to commend. Also, 
 the Burmese generally are to be admired for 
 the way they live some of the truths of their 
 
54 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 belief. Their hospitality is unbounded. Along 
 the hot and dusty roads are often seen little 
 stands containing earthen vessels which pro- 
 vide the “cup of cold water” for the thirsty 
 wayfarer. In the villages, at the shrines, and 
 at frequent intervals over the country, are 
 built little rest houses, the hotels of the natives, 
 where a traveler may take possession free of 
 charge, and be assured a shelter during his 
 stay. This is practical religion, whatever the 
 motive of the donor may be. 
 
 However, the acts of merit work out too often 
 in long prayers, formal ceremonies, and deeds 
 which have nothing to do with the character 
 within. Prayers are said, not prayed, — and 
 nearly always not understood, for they are in a 
 sacred language unknown to the people. 
 
 Although the Burmese are firm Buddhists, 
 yet there is a vivid trace of the old devil-, or 
 spirit-, worship in all their religious beliefs 
 and everyday acts. Spirits, called nats, are 
 everywhere, especially evil ones; and they must 
 be avoided or appeased. A haunting fear comes 
 with the darkness, and the lonely night traveler 
 yells or whistles — and often runs — for evil stalks 
 abroad in the night. 
 
 Maung Myit, our Burmese servant for some 
 time, was a middle-aged man and strongly 
 
The Way In 
 
 55 
 
 courageous; but he feared the spirits. He lived 
 in a village half a mile away on the next hill, 
 and went home every night rather than sleep 
 alone in the little house we provided for him. 
 He was always unusually industrious about his 
 work at the close of the day, in order to get 
 home before dark. But sometimes it was 
 necessary for him to stay till the shades of 
 night were deep. Then, when he was ready to 
 go, he procured a stick from the woodpile, and 
 wrapped a cloth soaked in oil around the end 
 of it. Laying this on the floor by the back door, 
 with matches ready for lighting by its side, 
 he stood and clapped his hands loudly to scare 
 the spirits off so that he could get a good start. 
 Then he quickly lighted the cloth, waved the 
 brand frantically over his head, and tore down 
 the road at top speed. We would stand and 
 watch the torch as it was borne on with un- 
 diminished vigor till it disappeared behind the 
 bushes at the village gate. And we could 
 testify that no fire-scared spirits would molest 
 Maung Myit. 
 
 The Christian observer is impressed with the 
 inadequacy of the Buddhist religion to give 
 soul satisfaction. It has a passively good, 
 witching lure about it that appeals strongly to 
 the easy-going dweller in a tropic clime. In 
 
56 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 precept excellent, and ranking second to Chris- 
 tianity in the high standard of its moral require- 
 ments, it has a purifying effect on the baser 
 forms of Oriental religion. But its precepts are 
 nowhere near being carried out. And right 
 there lies its inadequacy; for Buddhism is 
 without a saviour from sin. Relying on its 
 eternal reward for its chief hold on its devotees, 
 and that reward nothing, or worse than nothing 
 - — a ceasing from individuality and existence — 
 what else could be the result but a life-long 
 desire never satisfied? After all, the chief 
 difference between the religion of Christ and all 
 other religions is the one fact that Jesus saves. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 STRANGERS WITHIN 
 
 N EARLY every community is undergoing a 
 change in these days. Either by stormy 
 revolution or by quiet growth, modern 
 ideas are seizing the public mind. The seven - 
 wonder achievements of our time are inspiring 
 new life in the minds of the peoples of the 
 Orient especially ; and Burma is not without her 
 progressives. The new Burma seems destined 
 to be revivified from without, with the Chinese 
 and the Indian as the chief agents of the change. 
 The European can not move the stolid East; 
 but it will move itself, in time. Like her women, 
 Burma will mother any one; and she seems in a 
 fair way to renew her thinning blood by quiet 
 assimilation of the best and the worst in the 
 alien. 
 
 In situation, Rangoon is a part of Burma. 
 In inhabitants, Burma is only a part of it. 
 It is first India, for we meet the Indian on the 
 way ; and he fills the vision when one first lands 
 at the port. The Indians are not the most 
 
 57 
 
In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 58 
 
 Indian Coolies Unloading Rice from Up Country 
 
 influential in changing Burma, but they are the 
 most numerous of all foreigners ; and sheer 
 numbers have an effect. Some would affirm 
 that they are a dead weight, but it would be 
 
Strangers Within 
 
 59 
 
 better to say that they are a cheek to progress 
 overswift; for the Burman is spasmodic, and 
 the Chinese is proving himself very wide awake. 
 
 The English follow the very just policy of 
 giving first chance in governmental aid and 
 favors to the original owners of the country 
 over which they rule. All are treated fairly, 
 but Burma is governed primarily for the Bur- 
 mese. Yet in spite of this advantage, which is 
 not inconsiderable, the Burmese are fast losing 
 hold of the country financially, not to the 
 English, but to the Indian and the Chinese. 
 The household servants, the shopkeepers, the 
 money lenders, the police and soldiers, are 
 largely Indians, not alone in Rangoon, but all 
 over Burma. And they have entered to some 
 extent into all other occupations. In the course 
 of their work these classes handle large sums of 
 money, and their natural bent is not to spend 
 it. It is hoarded or sent to India, whither they 
 themselves very generally return when they 
 have amassed what to them is a fortune, or 
 when they become superannuated. 
 
 Every year at the time of the rice harvest 
 the ships from Madras and Calcutta are over- 
 loaded with thousands of coolies coming over 
 to reap Burma’s chief source of wealth. They 
 spread all over the great flat lands of the Irra- 
 
60 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 waddy delta, living in beast fashion, slaving all 
 day under a hot sun as they gather the grain 
 almost stalk by stalk. The end of the ingather- 
 ing sees them herded back to India, each with 
 his wage-pile, in the aggregate a vast sum 
 which might just as well be left in the country 
 of its production. There are enough Burmans 
 to wield the sickle, but the majority have the 
 habits of a king, with the purse of a pauper. 
 
 In order to pay off his coolies, the Burmese 
 farmer must dispose of a large part of his crop. 
 He is unduly delayed in shipping his paddy 
 (unhulled rice) to the mill because the Indian 
 railway station master (Indian because reliable 
 Burmans are scarce) will not provide a car unless 
 he is given a “present.” By the time the 
 farmer’s returns are all in, he usually has not 
 sufficient rice or money remaining to keep his 
 family till the next harvest. So he mortgages 
 his future crop for food and seed. The chetty 
 (Indian money lender) is at his elbow, willing 
 to make a loan at exorbitant interest. And 
 thus it goes on from year to year. The average 
 agriculturist is ever behind. He works hard, 
 too, but not “according to knowledge.” 
 
 These chetties are an abomination. Their 
 shining bodies, half-naked, are partly covered 
 with thin, spotlessly white cloth, and their fore- 
 
Strangers Within 
 
 61 
 
 heads and chests are decorated with white 
 marks. They are the leeches of the country, 
 clean as snakes are clean. Woe to the man who 
 
 Rice Piled High, Burma's Chief Source of Wealth 
 
62 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 falls into their money-itching hands. Ten per 
 cent a month is their not-uneommon interest 
 demand. In a word, these chalk and cheese- 
 cloth artists of lucre are — 
 
 At times of plenty, underrated; 
 
 At stringent times, appreciated; 
 
 At every time, most soundly hated. 
 
 Their skill, accurate accounting; their music, 
 the clink of coin; their art treasures, govern- 
 ment stamps; they are wrapped in greed and 
 clothed in avarice. 
 
 The- Burman does not fancy making a statue 
 of himself, nor accommodating his stride to 
 that of a hundred others. The discipline of 
 army life is irksome to him. So the thousands 
 of police and soldiers for this land are picked 
 from the giants of the Punjab and from the 
 fiery little Gurkhas of the Himalaya foot-hills. 
 Also there may be political policy in policing 
 one country with the people of another, at least 
 in India and Burma. 
 
 The Indian has been pulled, or has thrust 
 himself, into every matter pertaining to the 
 well-being and progress of this cosmopolitan 
 country; and while slow and very often un- 
 skilled, he can usually be depended upon. 
 He “ camps down alongside ” and sticks. Having 
 
Strangers Within 63 
 
 crossed the big water of Bengal Bay to get 
 here, he believes he has lost his caste thereby. 
 Of course many of his ways and tastes which 
 grew from caste distinctions are not dropped; 
 but class hatred is not odious in Burma. 
 Man) 7- Indians marry Burmese women. There 
 
 are more Indian men 
 than women, as is usual 
 in a country of immigra- 
 tion. Also there are 
 many more Burmese 
 women than men. 
 Cases of Burmese men 
 marrying women of 
 another nation are al- 
 most unknown; but ap- 
 pearances lead us to be- 
 lieve that the Burmese 
 women will marry any 
 one. As a consequence, 
 there is a rising genera- 
 tion of Indo-Burmese. 
 The Caucasian of the Indian and the Mongolian 
 of the Burman do not make the best blending, 
 in the judgment of Westerners. But this new 
 race mixture is destined to have much to do 
 with the shaping of the future of the “land of 
 laughing women. ” 
 
 Burma is Policed with Giants from 
 the Punjab 
 
64 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 The Indian, silent, solitary; 
 
 The Burman, laughing, ever merry. 
 
 The Indian, slow and plodding worker; 
 
 The Burman, shirker or a jerker. 
 
 The Indian, dressed in white, or duller; 
 
 The Burman, draped in brilliant color. 
 
 The Indian takes the world as serious; 
 
 The Burman, as a ioy delirious. 
 
 John Chinaman takes off his queue to prog- 
 ress, and we take off our hats to John China- 
 man. (Who of those who know him will ques- 
 tion the appropriateness of this given name? 
 What John suggests to the average English 
 reader’s mind, that’s the Chinaman.) Views 
 of Burma are incomplete without giving our 
 friends of the Middle Kingdom (beg pardon, 
 Republic) a prominent place. In America we 
 do not see the Chinaman at his best. It may 
 be he is not so seen in China. Be that as it 
 may, in Burma he is seen at the best the writer 
 has had the privilege of seeing him. 
 
 The American is jerky and hilarious compared 
 with the Chinaman, who is steady and serious. 
 He simply leans against what the Westerner 
 pushes, but he is always leaning. No obstacle 
 can long withstand that constancy of labor 
 and that taking of everything to heart. The 
 Chinaman has a destiny. I fully believe that 
 
Strangers Within 
 
 65 
 
 we can not in a lifetime learn to understand his 
 processes of mind. And that is not to say he 
 is inferior. He is different. 
 
 The Chinese associated with Burmese don’t 
 fight. They fit. And that, too, like my carpen- 
 ter’s best dove-tail joint. Usually the weakenss 
 of the one is evened by the strength of the 
 other. Their ancestry, religion, and traditions 
 are much the same. Their intermingling pro- 
 duces an excellent combination. It has been our 
 observation that the children of the mixed 
 marriages are fortunate in possessing many of 
 the virtues of both parents. They work and 
 save with the father, laugh and dress with the 
 mother. Burma is stretching social hands to- 
 ward the populous nation to the north ; though in 
 government she is tied to the West. The 
 Burmese character, at least, is destined to be 
 greatly modified by contact with the surround- 
 ing peoples. This light-hearted folk have many 
 admirable traits, but they are not of the kinds 
 which survive in our practical, workaday age. 
 Considering every thing, a blending of the 
 strong characteristics of both nations by race 
 union will be the best boon which either can 
 bestow on future Mongolian generations. 
 
 Generally speaking, a Chinaman works hard 
 and long, saves his money, attains skill in a 
 3 
 
66 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 practical trade, and is strictly honest. The 
 Burman, still generally speaking, lacks all these 
 virtues; that is, they do not seem to be strongly 
 inherent. If he has them, they have been put 
 on by supreme effort. But the Burman is 
 happy, good-tempered, lovable, and has excellent 
 taste in the fine arts, all of which the Chinaman 
 must seek. Both like to rule, and are not very 
 amenable to discipline. Both are inveterate 
 gamblers. Let it be understood that we are 
 speaking of these traits as general tendencies of 
 the majority. Every people exhibits all degrees 
 of desirable and undesirable features. 
 
 With slow but sure energy, the Chinaman is 
 “at it” early and late. He has come to Burma 
 with his “hand in,” and has proceeded to build 
 a reputation. In Burma the skilled carpenters, 
 cabinet-makers, leather-workers, metal-workers, 
 and contractors are very largely Chinese. Also 
 large numbers are employed as bank clerks and 
 accountants. John’s methodical ways make him 
 especially valuable as a director and executor of 
 large public works ; and while he is not generally 
 found to be a civil engineer by education, and 
 can not take the place of one, he already knows, 
 or is fast learning, the best ways of doing things. 
 
 “Have a look” with me at our Chinese wood- 
 working teacher at the school. We wonder 
 
Strangers Within 
 
 67 
 
 that he can turn out a chair equal to the best 
 in the West, and yet seem to have so few of what 
 we consider facilities at his hand. Though 
 seemingly crude, his methods are scientific and 
 up to date in “conservation of natural energy. ” 
 He is in the business “on all fours”; for his 
 normal capacity is almost doubled by the use 
 
 of his toes as a stand- 
 ard, or vice. Such a tool 
 has the advantage of not 
 encumbering his tool- 
 box. His work-bench is 
 eight feet long, ten 
 inches wide, two feet 
 high at one end and one 
 and one-half feet high at 
 the other, thus being 
 strictly a bench and not 
 a table. He sits on it. 
 By means of numerous 
 pegs and wedges used in 
 conjunction with square 
 holes in the bench-top 
 he manages to duplicate 
 processes which would seem to require more 
 complicated appliances. Instead of being one- 
 sided and awkward as he planes, he sits 
 astride his work (is literally “on the job”), 
 
 llong Lee, Our First Chinese 
 Carpenter 
 
68 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 and gives it the benefit of a straight-arm push. 
 
 No, he does not do everything backward 
 — very little, in fact, that I have seen. With 
 two pieces of iron shaped by the local black- 
 smith, two wooden uprights, a bamboo pole, 
 and a piece of rope, he sets up a one-foot-power 
 lathe which is a marvel of simplicity and effec- 
 tiveness. And again, no tool besides power-run 
 machinery can bore a hole so quickly as does his 
 string-and-rod “ brace. ” 
 
 The Chinaman in Burma has taken his cue 
 from the homeland and has cut off his queue. 
 Never can it be said again that a “pigtail” 
 hangs down every Chinaman’s back. And now 
 that he is no longer tied to the past by the 
 hair of his head, he is making radical advances 
 in other ways. As we see his sturdy industry 
 and independence, we can not but heartily 
 wish him Godspeed. 
 
 You stretch your stiffened limbs, 
 Phlegmatic John; 
 
 And with a mighty stride 
 The world moves on. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE BURMAN HIMSELF — AND HER- 
 SELF 
 
 T HE Burman thinks his land is a good place 
 in which to live, else why is he so willing 
 to stay there and the foreigner so willing 
 to come? If the latter is like himself, he must 
 be there for the pleasure it brings, for the 
 Burman’s conception of happiness is not that 
 which is found in anticipation, in sacrificing for 
 the future. He sees no satisfaction in the ac- 
 quiring of wealth as such, but only in its spend- 
 ing. Because money does not have time to 
 settle on him, he has made his land a more 
 attractive country than many in the East; for 
 even that gaiety which is but the gloss of happi- 
 ness has its lure. His is the bliss of the untutored 
 mind, the optimism of the simple life. The 
 wants and worries of modern civilization have 
 small place in his daily — no, not routine, for 
 he hates it — in his daily change. Did they but 
 know it, Epicurus is the patron philosopher of 
 these people of a land of plenty. 
 
 The Burman is such a man as you would 
 
 69 
 
70 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 A Burmese Government Officer in Official Dress 
 
The Barman Himself — and Herself 71 
 
 look at three times in the street. Let us bother 
 one of a type who is approaching us, by in- 
 dulging in a stare which he has brought upon 
 himself by dressing in so much color. And 
 what an exquisite taste he has for color and its 
 combinations! Not such combinations and 
 hues as Americans would put into a smart 
 make-up, but such a color scheme as we would 
 put into a room — ideal for the Burman, and 
 much admired by the visitor to these shores. 
 His head-piece is of a delicate tint of green silk, 
 his coat of white, his lower garments of dark- 
 green changeable silk, and his shoes are covered 
 with olive velvet. The soft tints of pink and 
 red are also favorites. No hideous stripes and 
 sharp contrasts of gaudy colors are to be seen. 
 
 As to the form of his dress and the method of 
 his dressing: Take two yards of silk and wrap 
 it around the head at the temples, tucking in 
 the end so that a corner waves plume-like, and 
 you have his hat; tighten a little the loose flow 
 of a short kimono, and you have his coat; 
 extend a flour sack to the size of a barrel, cut 
 out the bottom, put it on over the head and 
 lower it till the top reaches the waist and the 
 bottom just clears the ground; overlap the 
 ample girth in front, twist it into a knot and tuck 
 it inside the belt thus formed, and you have the 
 
72 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 “trousers”; for shoes, take soles and make 
 uppers sufficient to form a little three-cornered 
 pocket for the toes, or two pieces of padded 
 tape may rise from between the toes and fasten 
 at the sides. His diminutive turban gives him 
 a jaunty ap- 
 pearance, h i s 
 coat makes him 
 look cool, his 
 hobble-like 
 skirt shortens 
 his step, and 
 his sandals 
 cause him to 
 drag his feet. 
 
 The educated 
 classes of peo- 
 ple in the towns 
 are now affeet- 
 ing Western 
 shoes and 
 stockings and 
 a n aim o s t - 
 European coat. 
 
 The modern 
 
 A Youth in Characteristic Burmese Dress 
 
 umbrella, com- 
 mon the world over, has largely displaced 
 the flat, Japanese type. The women dress 
 
The Burman Himself — and Herself 73 
 
 in the same way as the men, except that 
 they have no headdress but combs and flowers, 
 their coats are cut to a little different pattern, 
 and the skirt is fastened in a different way. 
 The people are of medium height or small. 
 
 Very tall or very 
 stout men are 
 few. 
 
 The true Bur- 
 mese trousers are 
 said to be tattoo. 
 Most of the men 
 and boys are tat- 
 tooed from the 
 waist to the 
 knees. The tail- 
 oring of this pair 
 of trour e:s, which 
 is guaian.eed not 
 to rip or wear, is a 
 painful ordeal of 
 boyhood. There 
 is a tradition 
 that at first the 
 higher classes in 
 the towns adopted this method of distin- 
 guishing themselves from the jungle people; 
 then the latter followed the townspeople so as 
 
 And Another who Affects Half European 
 Style 
 
74 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 not to be thought ignorant; and now this dis- 
 figurement is going out of style because it is 
 said to mark the countryman. Besides these 
 trousers that won’t come off, the Burman wears 
 a thin, tight shirt and flowing Chinese trousers 
 for underwear. 
 
 A look into the face of our subject reveals 
 his relation to his neighbors of China and 
 Japan. But his eyes are more open and less 
 oblique than theirs. He can not grow a full 
 mustache or beard, and the few hairs that do 
 appear are naturally not welcome. Partly to 
 save shaving, he carries in his pocket a small 
 pair of pincers, and has recourse to pulling out 
 the intruders by the roots. 
 
 The Burmese are generally tidy and clean 
 about their persons, and just the opposite about 
 their surroundings. There is great hope, how- 
 ever, for a man who comes “next to godliness” 
 in his daily bath. The favorite bath-rooms are 
 front yards and village w^ell sides. By a dexter- 
 ous manipulation of garments they maintain 
 decency, and yet get a thorough scrub and pour. 
 
 The visitor is impressed with the happy 
 expressions on the countenances of these people ; 
 and though he is kept awake at night by the 
 yelled songs of a belated joy walker, he feels 
 that dull care rests lightly upon their shoulders. 
 
The Bur man Himself — and Herself 75 
 
 They are indeed a jolly race. This, with the 
 abundant fresh air of their open houses 
 and their frequent bathing, grants them quite 
 good health in spite of the food they eat, which 
 is usually abominable. The inside of the platter 
 
 The Ordeal of Being Tattooed 
 
 remains unwashed. In the case of many, they 
 are good-looking until they open their mouths. 
 
 Rice and curry are the bread and butter of 
 Burma. Rice is the staff of life, and curry is 
 the rod. Curry can not be described at one 
 sitting. Like American hash, it may be any- 
 thing, and tastes like everything. It often has 
 
76 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 a meat basis — fish, flesh, or fowl — contains bits 
 of a variety of vegetables and spices, and has 
 the consistency of a stew. But if the uninitiated 
 should shut his eyes and taste it, he would 
 affirm that it consisted of stewed peppers; for 
 chillis are freely sprinkled in. One little chilli 
 in a curry sufficient for a large family is enough 
 to cause an unwhipped alimentary canal to call 
 lustily for water; but these people can eat down 
 the little vegetable misnomers raw and un- 
 accompanied, without a change of expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Ngapi is a representative of Burmese dietary 
 abominations. It is simply rotten fish. The 
 smell of it beggars description. It combines 
 all the offensive odors we have ever sensed. 
 Yet this outrage to the olfactory organs is one 
 of the most toothsome titbits of a whole people. 
 We have seen children of the poor licking the 
 juice of the stuff as it dripped from freight-ears 
 at the stations. Still, the Burmans do not have 
 a monopoly on disgusting foods. 
 
 In common with most of the natives of 
 India, the Burmese indulge in the use of a prepa- 
 ration of betel leaves and lime, called by them 
 kun. When chewed, this produces a red juice, 
 and the first sight of an open mouth containing 
 it is as startling as the bursting of an artery. 
 
The Bur man Himself — and Herself 77 
 
 In time the teeth turn black. If to this is added 
 crooked and rotting incisors, and a stench for 
 breath, as is often the ease with the jungle 
 people, the facial opening is a forbidding cavern 
 to the assiduous users of the tooth-brush and 
 the mouth wash. The use of kun is not universal, 
 however, and lately the cigarette is substituted 
 for it, — not to say that this is an improvement, 
 except in appearance. 
 
 Both sexes, all ages, smoke, smoke, smoke — 
 anything from leaves and chipped wood to 
 opium. Tobacco is most commonly used, but 
 it is not chewed, smoked in a pipe, nor taken as 
 snuff, but is formed into cigars. Most of the 
 cigars are cheap and large — so swelled with 
 chipped-wood stuffing and corn-husk cover that 
 the lips can not be gotten over the near end 
 with propriety. 
 
 The Burman is respectful in the presence of 
 authority, and his manners are good. As a social 
 companion, he is a very likeable person indeed. 
 He is nearly always at leisure for a visit, and 
 few can be as pleasant as he. But his “little 
 behindhand’’ is well developed, and business 
 and managing ability are lacking. Whatever 
 business the Burmans do is managed largely by 
 the women. I verily believe a Burmese woman 
 would rather sell than eat. Her glory lies in 
 
y8 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 bargaining and making change, while her hus- 
 band passes her the goods. 
 
 The Burman is slow to wrath, but quick 
 when he gets there. He is not often seen 
 fighting, but seems temporarily insane when he 
 does begin, and fights to kill. Perhaps because 
 the terrible consequences are known, every 
 non-participant in a combat tries to stop it. 
 I have witnessed a number of encounters 
 between both boys and men, and every time 
 the combatants were separated by their friends. 
 
 At a great woman suffrage convention in 
 one of the large cities of America a noted 
 suffragist was making a speech on the conditions 
 of women in all lands. She had just returned 
 from a world tour, and was enthusiastic over the 
 prospect of the growing freedom of women and 
 their increasing participation in the affairs of 
 the world. At one moment in her speech she 
 burst forth with something like this: “Ladies, 
 I found that women in far-away Burma have 
 been given the vote. Burmese women in the 
 city of Rangoon may cast their ballots in certain 
 local elections on an equality with their hus- 
 bands and brothers.” 
 
 It was a glowing report, and it was true; 
 although it does not give a true picture of the 
 progress of woman suffrage in Burma. This 
 
A Burmese Lady of the Very Fashionable Type 
 
 75 
 
8o In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 lecturer knew more about the right to vote of 
 the little silken ladies of that land than the 
 Burmese women know themselves; for over there 
 they know little about votes, and care less 
 about the affairs of government than their 
 American sisters. But the most that such a 
 statement conveys is that Burmese women are 
 f ree , — icomparati vely . 
 
 The dainty damsels of the land that nestles 
 in a corner of southern Asia seem to laugh first 
 and last, if not all the time. They can’t say the 
 Burmese word for laugh (yee) without parting 
 their lips and showing their teeth in a smile at 
 least. Ma Burma laughs because she does not 
 have to be only one of a number of wives of 
 the same man, and be compelled to wear a heavy 
 veil over her face when she goes out on the 
 street, as do her Mohammedan sisters through- 
 out the East. She laughs because she does not 
 have to remain “ in purdah ” — always have to be 
 hidden behind the curtains of her home prison 
 — as is the fate of her Hindu neighbor woman 
 in India. She laughs because hers is not the lot 
 of hard work and bound and crippled feet of 
 many of the women of China. She laughs 
 because she has the opportunity to do what she 
 likes to do most, “ to buy and sell and get gain.” 
 On a continent of women slaves the liberty of 
 
r' 
 
 The Bur man Himself — and Herself 81 
 
 Burmese Womanhood at its Best 
 
82 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Burma’s women shines like the rubies of their 
 mines. 
 
 But we would not be misunderstood. There is 
 a drawback to ever}" blessing in any land where 
 the religion of Jesus Christ has not purified the 
 hearts of men. With all her freedon, the demure 
 brown woman of Burma must walk behind her 
 husband on the street, take all the care of the 
 children, do much of the hard work, carry the 
 loads on her head and the heavy burdens of the 
 household on her heart. The girl babies are 
 much more unwelcome than boys, and generally 
 are not considered worth educating. With 
 cheerful grace the sister carries around the 
 pampered baby brother on her hip. But she 
 can roam the roads, play to her heart’s content, 
 go to market, smile at the world, stay unmarried 
 till she is grown, and choose a husband herself. 
 So she laughs. 
 
 As to grace of carriage, dignity of bearing, 
 and pride of race, the Burmese people are made 
 of the stuff that kings are made of. They 
 revel in color and music, show and display. 
 They are artists, but not artisans. Not having 
 learned how to obey, they can not command. 
 Their strong and good traits are not of the 
 sort that long endure in this modern workaday 
 world, more’s the pity. Should time last, their 
 
The Barman Himself — and Herself Sj 
 
 fate would be assimilation. But should this 
 come, those who know them best hope that their 
 general likableness may be transmitted. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE WAY UP COUNTRY 
 
 T HE long Up Mail stands ready in the 
 Rangoon station for the three-hundred- 
 eighty-mile trip to Mandalay. Under the 
 low, smoke-blackened roof of the train-shed the 
 light is poor, and we peer into the different com- 
 partments until we find our names written on 
 cards placed at the head of our berths. These 
 places have been reserved for us by request. 
 Amid much confusion and shouting of coolies 
 we pile in our luggage (not baggage), and with a 
 feeling of preparedness for the worst, stroll up 
 and down the platform to view the train in- 
 cidentally, and our fellow travelers especially. 
 Lest we seem to digress, we shall eschew com- 
 ment on the latter for the present. 
 
 Some aspects of this line of ears strike a new- 
 comer as strange indeed. To Americans the 
 European type of engine appears peculiar. It 
 sits low on the tracks, with square front and 
 boxed-in sides. The tracks in Burma are 
 narrow-gage, the rails being about three feet 
 84 
 
The Way Up Country Sj 
 
 apart. The ears are the usual width, and so 
 they look top-heavy. They are of different 
 lengths, the longest being a little shorter than 
 the American Pullman. The longer ones have 
 double trucks, but the shorter have single 
 pairs of wheels, with spokes. Various types 
 of car construction prevail. The first- and 
 second-class carriages are divided into three 
 or four compartments, and the third-class is all 
 in one, generally. The ears are hooded for pro- 
 tection from the heat; that is, they have double 
 tops, the upper part leaving a six-inch space 
 between it and the lower, and reaching down 
 the side to below the window tops. The first- 
 class compartments are painted white on the 
 outside, the second-class green, and the third- 
 class light brown. Red, too, must be included 
 in the color scheme, and so the luggage and mail 
 compartments are adorned with crimson. Each 
 division has its respective class number indi- 
 cated by large raised letters on the side. The 
 government officials usually have the white 
 places to themselves, the natives crowd the 
 brown ones, and the green is a meeting-ground 
 for the commonwealth of all peoples. 
 
 We start for our places, when a porter clangs 
 a hand-bell that is altogether too big for him, 
 as a sign that in five minutes we shall be on our 
 
The Irrawaddy lliver and the Boats that Ply its Waters 
 
The Way Up Country 87 
 
 way. There is an extra rush as belated passen- 
 gers clamber on board, a loud slamming of doors 
 along the line, and at the expiration of the time 
 limit the whistle toots — not a strong, healthy 
 whistle, but an effeminate shriek — and we are 
 off. You may walk and run along with us for a 
 time, since there are no jerks nor fast get- 
 aways in the land where time is not precious. 
 We are starting at sixteen fifty o’clock, since 
 there are not two twelves in a day, but really 
 twenty-four hours, for the Burmese railways. 
 
 As the city fades away, we turn to inspect 
 our compartment. It measures about eight 
 feet wide by ten long and eight high. Along 
 the sides, except at the doors, are cane-seated 
 benches with springs. Passengers thus sit 
 with their backs to the windows, unless there is 
 plenty of room and they dare manifest enough 
 ill manners to stretch their legs along the seat. 
 In an endeavor to combine a bed and a seat 
 in one, the company has made this very neces- 
 sary part of comfortable traveling too narrow 
 to sleep on and too wide to sit on. The first- 
 class seat is convertible, so that one can face 
 the front; but the third-class has just foot- 
 wide boards, an extra seat in the middle of the 
 ear, and overhead “upper berths,” which are 
 in reality third-quality pantry-shelves. In our 
 
88 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 carriage the cushioned upper berth is folded 
 against the wall when it is not in use. Opening 
 off the compartment is a diminutive wash- and 
 closet-room. 
 
 Several fellow travelers share our stuffy cell. 
 One, a Chinaman, gazes stolidly out of the 
 window; an Indian lolls in a corner, and a 
 cigarette, with a young Burman pulling poison 
 from one end of it, occupies another. And there 
 is luggage, luggage, luggage — least in importance, 
 but greatest in bulk. Only a small amount of 
 impedimenta may be booked (checked) free on a 
 ticket and carried in the brake-van (baggage 
 car), and any extra is charged for at a high rate. 
 Consequently stern necessity tells the Oriental to 
 take it with him into his compartment, and, 
 within a certain limit, no one says him nay. 
 Add to this the fact that we in the Hast must 
 carry our comforts with us if we would have any. 
 It is the custom to provide very few comforts 
 on the trains, in the rest-houses which are used 
 as hotels, and at the houses of friends. Rooms 
 are furnished with no more than was Elisha’s 
 little room “on the wall” at Shunem, — abed, 
 table, stool, and candlestick being the sum. 
 Bedding, toilet articles, etc., must be taken on a 
 journey. So every traveler seems to be “shift- 
 ing” with all his effects. There is no sight of the 
 
The Way Up Country 8g 
 
 stalwart European striding down the station 
 platform between two suit eases; instead, he 
 saunters along, and about ten coolies follow 
 with his movables on their heads. 
 
 Let us take an inventory of the various 
 articles that clutter our feet — rolls of bedding, 
 tin trunks, boxes, a sun-hat, basket of fruit, 
 rugs, canes, umbrellas, gun, birds in cage, food 
 basket, bath-tub, wash-bowl and pitcher, fold- 
 ing table, bag of nuts, typewriter, water-jar, — 
 but I weary you. 
 
 Shall we look from the window? Broken 
 only here and there by a tree-crowned eminence 
 marking a village, vast stretches of waving 
 rice-fields extend to the bounds of the horizon. 
 It seems incomprehensible that in this greatest 
 of rice-growing countries every plant is stuck 
 into the ground by hand. And what appears 
 to be one illimitable field is in reality a countless 
 number of little irregular patch-work puddles, 
 many of them no larger than the space beneath 
 a house. 
 
 The view out soon becomes monotonous, and 
 we welcome the station stops. The train slows 
 down with a joltless, dignified ease, and the 
 decreasing roar is interspersed with the babel of 
 the station furies, — coolie women crying their 
 extreme willingness to carry luggage, and fight- 
 
go 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 ing one another for the privilege. The train is 
 to stop for twenty minutes for no apparent 
 reason, and we alight to look around. Native 
 men come swinging by with two baskets on a 
 pole, one containing a pot of hot rice and the 
 other various kinds of curry. A banana leaf 
 serves as a plate and fingers for forks, and a 
 good hearty lunch is sold to the passengers 
 through the low train windows, — price eight 
 cents. Here is a Burmese woman serving 
 various tasty edibles, which she carries in a 
 wide flat basket on her head, languidly waving 
 a stick over them to keep the crows away. 
 Her plaintive cry is, “Poo deh, cho deh.” 
 (It’s hot, it’s sweet). A flock of crows is perched 
 on the tops of the cars, watching an opportunity 
 to swoop for the leavings, while a horde of 
 skinny dogs run in and out among the wheels, 
 ready to snap for chicken bones. 
 
 A little engine is shunting wagons (switching 
 freight-cars) on a side-track. Here is a native 
 brakeman using a unique brake to stop his 
 shunted wagon at the right place — a brake on 
 which these railways seem to have an exclusive 
 patent right. But I shall not risk divulging a 
 trade secret when I tell you that the brake con- 
 sists in the man’s running along ahead of the 
 moving wagon and putting little stones on the 
 track to retard its progress. 
 
The Way Up Country 
 
 9i 
 
 At length we get started again slowly, and the 
 tiresome journey continues. The speed limit 
 is twenty-five miles an hour, and we make 
 about twenty. With uncomfortable seats, close 
 compartments, slow rate of travel, and long 
 
 The Great Gotec Bridge, Built by American Engineers 
 
 journeys, travel is not pleasant in Burma. But 
 the speed is so much greater than the slow- 
 moving bullock-cart that there is little com- 
 plaint on the part of those who formerly knew 
 only the snail-pace. Why be in a hurry ? There 
 is another day coming. The greater speed the 
 
Q2 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 more jolting, and slowness insures safety. And 
 while these trains are classed, by foreigners, 
 among the things that creep, they have their 
 advantages. They are safe, frequent, and 
 commodious, and since they have all the time, 
 they are rarely behind it. 
 
 The road bed is in excellent condition, the 
 ties being of the old reliable wooden sort. The 
 white ants would soon consume these for lunch 
 if it were not that the frequent trains keep them 
 trembling, and his antship does not relish 
 shaky food. But the same preservative is not in 
 operation with the telegraph poles and fence 
 posts, hence they are of steel, set in cement. 
 The former are worn-out rails and are well 
 adapted for the purpose. Painted on each pole 
 in plain sight of the moving cars is the number 
 of miles from the terminus of the road, and also 
 the number of the pole in that mile. Thus 
 the traveler at any moment may ascertain just 
 how many feet he is from his destination. 
 
 In places where cuts and fills are made along 
 the track the earth is removed with hoe-like 
 tools and carried in baskets on the heads of 
 coolie women. The work is done by the piece 
 and they are paid according to the number of 
 cubic yards removed. In order to show how 
 high the top of the ground was before the ex- 
 
The Way Up Country 
 
 93 
 
 cavation was made, columns of earth are left 
 standing at intervals. These are usually crowned 
 with a tuft of grass or weeds to prove that that 
 was really the top; and, being about a foot in 
 diameter, they have the appearance of human 
 beings, and are called “dead men.” So it is 
 often said that the railway is strewn on either 
 side with dead men. 
 
 We engage in conversation, after asserting 
 our rights to the air by insisting that the Burman 
 shall cease to “drink his cigarette.” The talk 
 drifts to fares on the railway. 
 
 “What is the rate of fares?” I asked my 
 companion. 
 
 “ One pice (half cent) a mile third-class, three 
 pice second-class, five pice first-class,” was the 
 answer; and he continued by way of further 
 explanation: “You will notice that each ticket 
 has the color of the compartment in which 
 it grants a ride ; and the amount it costs is printed 
 on it. Usually none of the train authorities 
 trouble you about your ticket until you pass out 
 of the station at your destination, and many 
 times you are not requested to show it at all.” 
 
 “ I should think such a method would give 
 ample opportunity for dishonest persons to 
 steal rides.” 
 
 “ It does seem so, and yet it is surprising how 
 
94 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 few persons get free rides on these trains, con- 
 sidering the carelessness and grafting propen- 
 sities of some of the employees.” 
 
 “Are our missionaries granted special rates?” 
 “Yes, they get half-fares by written request 
 to the traffic manager for each trip; or certifi- 
 cates lasting a month are granted. We mission- 
 aries usually travel second-class. The third- 
 class fare is only a little less than half second- 
 class fare, and for the difference in cost it doesn’t 
 pay to endanger our health and the reputation 
 of our work. A person’s standing is everything 
 over here, and he is judged by the way he lives 
 and travels. Certain standards are expected 
 of Europeans and Americans, and if one does 
 not live up to them (and they are reasonable) 
 the natives lose respect for him. Also, at times, 
 these third-class compartments are veritable 
 pens of filth and disease. By the way, did you 
 ever hear of ‘pipe-stem traveling’?” 
 
 I confessed my ignorance of the meaning of 
 the expression, and my friend explained: “Well, 
 I heard the expression in Japan. You see, a 
 Japanese pipe has a valuable bowl and mouth- 
 piece, but these two are connected by a cheap 
 and changeable stem. It is said that when the 
 gentleman with the slim purse desires to make a 
 good impression upon his friends, he buys a 
 
The Way Up Country 
 
 95 
 
 first-class ticket when his journey begins, but 
 only to the next station. At the first stop, he 
 alights and buys a third-class ticket, and takes 
 a lower seat until within one station of his 
 destination, when he changes again, and is 
 able smilingly and without ‘ loss of face ’ to greet 
 his friends from a first-class carriage. The 
 reason for this being called pipe-stem travel 
 is obvious.” 
 
 Meal-time suggests that there are two alter- 
 natives for the refreshment of the appetite. 
 There are no dining cars on the trains, and so 
 we partake of the viands supplied at the station 
 restaurants, or resort to the tiffin basket. 
 The latter we have brought with us, and it 
 consists of a large (for a basket) trunk-like 
 affair, usually crated, or in some way reinforced 
 to withstand the wear. Now “tiffin” as a 
 word is the sole property of Anglo-Indian 
 circles, and comes from “tiffing,” which signi- 
 fies eating between meals. So tiffin is luncheon 
 in the East, but always the luncheon between 
 breakfast and dinner; that is, about noon or 
 early afternoon. But a tiffin basket carries 
 meals, of whatever name. And its fitting-up 
 ranges all the way from the very simple to the 
 very elaborate, according to the taste and 
 pocket-book of the owner. It is very handy to 
 
q6 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 have an alcohol or an air-pressure oilstove in it 
 so that water or food may be heated. Lacking 
 this we could resort to the escape valve on the 
 
 A Traveling Restaurant 
 
The Way Up Country 97 
 
 engine for hot water, if the driver (engineer) 
 is friendly. 
 
 The food hawked along the station platforms 
 does not appeal to the eye nor taste of those 
 whose ideas of cleanliness and attractiveness of 
 victuals have been cultured along the lines of 
 Western propriety. So at the stations where we 
 arrive about meal-times are restaurants, ar- 
 ranged first-, second-, and third-class, and ample 
 time — at the rate of the East — is given for the 
 satisfaction of the appetite. 
 
 In the old days the river Irrawaddy was the 
 only highway to the up-country ; and it was, and 
 is yet, a broad and handy way indeed, however 
 winding. The prows of palatial steamers and 
 swift launches cut its yellow waters today; 
 and a delightful round trip is made by tourists 
 in going to Mandalay by train, and back by 
 sliding down the devious course of the father 
 of Burmese waters. 
 
 We leave the train to meet with transporta- 
 tion more primitive. A not-to-be-despised mode 
 of travel in Burma, even in this day of electric, 
 steam, and motor vehicles, is the lowly bullock 
 cart. Every foreigner must come to it, if he 
 stays here long and goes anywhere. Off the 
 beaten track of the globe trotter, the cart roads 
 are poor, as a rule. The English are the best 
 4 
 
q 8 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 road builders in the world, it is said, and no 
 one can complain about the ones they have 
 built in Burma. But there are few of them in so 
 big a country. The strictly Burmese roads are 
 ditches. The cartmen go “ the shortest way 
 there,” and the roads are never “worked.” 
 The water from the torrential rains, finding its 
 level there as everywhere, seeks the cart tracks 
 for channels; and in the course of years, water 
 and wheel furrow into the ground a deeply 
 sunken road, ever rough and bumpy, and 
 ‘smothered in dust in dry weather. 
 
 On such lowways it is evident that two 
 wheels are just half the difficulty of four; hence 
 the cart. Its bed is made square, with woven 
 bamboo for a floor. It has picket-fence sides 
 about a foot high. If covered, the top is of the 
 prairie-schooner style, and is made of matting, 
 with adjustable extra pieces to extend over 
 front and back in case of rain. This is the 
 common make; but there are variations for 
 different purposes. The tongue is of two 
 converging pieces of wood, fastened wide apart 
 at the axle and meeting where the yoke is 
 attached to them in front. The yoke itself is 
 of common variety, except that the pieces which 
 parallel the necks of the bullocks are like broom 
 sticks. They protrude through holes in the 
 
The Way Up Country 
 
 99 
 
 beam that rests on the back of the neck, and 
 are easily removable. Across the tongue-pieces, 
 and right between the flanks of the bullocks, 
 being in front of the cart box proper, short 
 boards are placed for the driver’s seat. 
 
 The wheels are quite modern, although before 
 the country was opened up they used to be huge 
 slabs of wood. The axle is made of hard jungle 
 wood, and the wheels are kept on by pins 
 in its ends. I have been explicit, because the 
 Burmese cart is a remarkable vehicle — not for 
 looks, far from it, but for adaptability. Some- 
 times singly, but usually in long caravans, 
 thousands of these simple conveyances worm 
 through the valleys and wind over the hills, 
 bearing the weight of Burma’s load. 
 
 A few days after our arrival in the up-country, 
 we were slumbering peacefully in the gray 
 dawn, the only cool and sleep-producing part 
 of the night. Dream-like and far away there 
 came a piercing cry, like the plantive call of 
 some wild thing in distress. Again and louder 
 it sounded, till it penetrated sleep-dulled ears 
 like a pain. There was a sudden sitting up in 
 bed, a quickened heart-beat, and a whispered, 
 “What’s that?” A moment of stillness and it 
 came again, a long-drawn-out shriek that cut 
 the misty atmosphere like a knife. What 
 

 IQO Old Style Cart with Water Buffaloes 
 
The Way Up Country 
 
 101 
 
 horrible agony, that could project such sounds 
 into the ghostly stillness ! And yet the neighbor- 
 hood was not alarmed ! Now, again, and nearer! 
 Shriek! screech! yell! scream! — shriek! screech! 
 yell ! scream ! Oh, the terror of it ! It stimulated 
 action, and yet forbade it. We must do some- 
 thing. Crawling stealthily out from under the 
 net and over to the window, we peered road- 
 ward into the haze. It approached, but we 
 stuck to our post with the bravery of despera- 
 tion. Then, slowly through the fog it loomed, 
 and took shape. Our hair dropped back into its 
 natural attitude, and we laughed ! Nothing 
 but a Burmese cart on the way to early market, 
 and the driver fast asleep on his seat. 
 
 Somewhat exaggerated, says the stranger to 
 Burma. Our fright, — perhaps so. But not the 
 noise. It puts description to shame. For the 
 Burman scorns to grease his cart wheels.. With 
 a heavy load and wood frictioning wood, the 
 squeaks and squawks and squoks are never 
 the same, but always painful — to all but the 
 occupants of the cart. But why this affliction 
 of the ear, we ask, with earth-oil almost as 
 cheap as dirt. Two reasons are given. One is, 
 that the racket drives away evil spirits; but the 
 other, and much more practical, one is that 
 gritty dust sticks to the grease and wears away 
 
102 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 the wooden axle. But even at that we fail to 
 quite see the mechanical philosophy of it; yet 
 settle back to bear it, as something of the 
 vexatious in Oriental life that will not be 
 remedied. 
 
 Well, we are ready to attempt a ride. As is 
 usual with country-going carts, at the back 
 there is a large bag-like projection, made of 
 bamboo strips, to provide a place for bullock 
 food, water cans, and other impedimenta of 
 the journey. So we are deprived of the happy 
 privilege of letting our feet dangle out of the 
 back end. We must crawl into the prison from 
 the front, before the bullocks are attached. 
 There are no elevated seats, for the Burman 
 doesn’t use any; and anyway the top is too low 
 for them. So our comfort is found in any 
 permissible sitting-on-the-floor attitude we may 
 invent. 
 
 The bullocks are heavy fellows, with the 
 usual fat-hump above the shoulders common 
 to all Eastern draught kine. The driver- -he 
 likes to be called the “chief officer of the cart” 
 — maneuvers his animals into place with con- 
 siderable deftness, meanwhile making a kissing 
 noise with his mouth to keep them steady and 
 quiet, exactly the same noise we make to pro- 
 duce the opposite effect on a horse. The reins are 
 
The Way Up Country 
 
 103 
 
 small, stout ropes, and are fastened, in lieu of 
 a bridle, through holes in the noses of the patient 
 beasts. Their motto is, Slow and steady. We 
 start, or are supposed to, but it is difficult to 
 detect the movement. The operation is some- 
 thing like 
 this: The 
 
 bullocks 
 stand firm- 
 ly on all 
 fours, and 
 at the com- 
 mand to go 
 they lean 
 frontwards 
 against the 
 yoke, gin- 
 gerly ; and as the load slowly follows, a forefoot is 
 extended, to save them from falling forward. 
 They keep on leaning, and the other forefoot 
 takes its turn. A succession of such movements, 
 slightly accelerated, makes progress. And this is 
 their speed limit, if left to themselves. But im- 
 patient passengers and a liberal fee provide an 
 original source of greater haste. 
 
 The only springs present are those between 
 our vertebrae, and they were not made to meet 
 this. Jolt, jiggle, tip, bump, roll; rub, rattle, 
 
 On the Road in a Bullock Cart 
 
104 /« the Land of Pagodas 
 
 dust, heat, smells — on we go, and are worn 
 nerve-bare in a mile. 
 
 Possibly going faster and getting the thing 
 over would be preferable. So we suggest it. 
 The “chief officer” protests; sore-footed bullocks, 
 hot sun, etc., are his excuses. But at last we 
 insist; and he rises — literally — to the occasion. 
 
 Now in India a driver resorts to the tails of 
 his bullocks as accelerators. With a gutteral 
 trill over his tongue, he reaches for a caudle 
 appendage like changing the speed on a Ford, 
 and gives it a vigorous twist that quickly injects 
 pep into a jaded beast. And this is kept up 
 during the life-time of the animal till the abused 
 tail is sadly lifeless and disconnected in its bony 
 structure, looking very much like the string of 
 spools the baby pulls across the floor. Or it 
 may be, on occasion, that the Indian eart-man 
 tries some other way. Leaning far over the 
 bullocks, he threateningly brandishes his whip- 
 stiek over their heads with a motion resembling 
 that of the bow over the violin strings, the while 
 emitting a series of shrill yelps calculated to 
 freeze bovine blood. 
 
 But no tail-twists nor fiddle-music for the 
 Burman. Our man grabs his reins in one hand, 
 and his goad in the other, and jumps to his 
 feet with a yell. Then, with every muscle 
 
The Way Up Country 105 
 
 alert, he shoots out a volley of epithets over a 
 mouth-full of kun juice: “Oun-n-n-g meh-leh! 
 Nwa-dee! Thwa! Thwa! Thwa! Uh! Uh! 
 Uh!” — which, freely translated, means, Oh 
 mother! (a forceful interjection ever springing 
 to the lips of a Burman) Bullock! (literally, 
 he-cattle) Go! Go! Go! And the last three 
 sounds are chesty grunts, accompanied by 
 energetic pokes into the animal’s flanks with 
 the point of the goad. 
 
 As a surprisingly quick effect of this sudden 
 outburst the bullocks lean forward more nearly 
 like lightning, and “thwa.” And we also 
 “thwa.” Every previous disagreeable sensa- 
 tion we have experienced is multiplied in 
 intensity by ten, and a number of new ones 
 added. Projected in every direction in rapid 
 succession, the rebound is truly harrowing. 
 We begin to think of resultant black and blue 
 spots on anatomical projections, and decide 
 to forego our speed mania for the present. We 
 communicate this humiliating conclusion to 
 the “chief officer,” and, with the faintest of 
 smiles, he soon brings the flying equipage to 
 a full stop. Then, lighting a big cheroot, our 
 Jehu calmly puffs away at it and awaits our 
 further pleasure. We say nothing, for there 
 is nothing adequate to the occasion that can 
 
106 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 be said. So we emerge very much disheveled 
 in appearance and cowed in spirit, and settle 
 for all time that there is only one way to travel 
 comfortably with a Burmese cart; and that is 
 — to walk! 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 OF THE BURMANS BURMESE 
 
 S OON after going to Burma, we received a 
 letter from a small boy acquaintance in 
 America, asking if we lived in a tree. 
 Perhaps this idea is akin to the notion that 
 the sun never shines in darkest Africa, or that 
 all the vegetation in China is yellow. However, 
 it may be our young friend did see a picture 
 of a house in a tree, purporting to be a reflection 
 of life in Burma. But after a number of years 
 of living in and traveling about this land of 
 peculiarities we did not see one house in a tree, 
 though we heard there are some. Burmese 
 tree-houses are just about as ordinary as 
 American tree-houses. 
 
 But the Burman is fond of living “up in the 
 air,” at least in the low-lying parts of the 
 country. Paddy (rice) is the most general 
 crop, and it must be kept flooded. The ground 
 is covered with water during the rainy season; 
 and, even if it were possible, it would be very 
 uncomfortable and unhealthful to live in a house 
 
 107 
 
A Scene in a Jungle Village 
 
Of the Bur mans Burmese log 
 
 with a dirt floor. So the people usually perch 
 their houses high up on posts. 
 
 The typical Burmese house is made entirely 
 of bamboo, that inestimable boon to the poor 
 man in the tropics. Its firm structure, light 
 weight, and straight-splitting tendency make it 
 very valuable for building purposes. With it 
 he makes all parts of his house, his linoleum, 
 candlestick, drinking cup, savings bank, cow- 
 bell, wrapping paper, horoscope, water pipe, 
 furniture, baskets, handles for tools, and a 
 hundred other articles too common to mention. 
 I judge the least use he makes of it is for fish- 
 ing poles. 
 
 The primitive and only tool needed for the 
 building is the dak, a long knife just about 
 the size and shape of a straight corn-cutting 
 knife. It is also the general weapon. It is 
 wonderful in how many ways the Burman can 
 use it. A skilled jungle man in the olden days 
 could go into the forest with nothing but a dah, 
 and emerge in a day or two with a complete 
 and well-made bullock cart. 
 
 In a house large enough to have two stories, 
 the upper one is never above the lower, but is 
 placed at the back, so that the two are like 
 steps. If he can help it, no Burman will live 
 or sleep beneath the room in which another 
 
no In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 lives or sleeps. When we started our school 
 we did not have room enough in the dormitory; 
 and in my ignorance I suggested that we make 
 “double-decker” beds. We were warned before 
 it was too late. 
 
 Below the upper, or back, story of the house 
 is the stable for the bullocks and carts. The 
 floor of the bedroom above it is made of split 
 bamboo, and has cracks about an inch wide. 
 vSo the air in the sleeping apartments can not 
 be very wholesome; and it would be almost 
 unbearable if the walls were not made of bamboo 
 matting and the windows kept open so that the 
 breeze can have free course. 
 
 The roof is usually made of short pieces of 
 stripped bamboo, which are lapped like shingles. 
 From within, it is possible to study the heavenly 
 bodies through the roof ; but it is surprising 
 how r little of even the heaviest rain comes 
 through, when once the wood is wet. 
 
 Every year a careful house owner daubs the 
 walls and posts of his house with a coat of 
 crude petroleum, and this preserves the light 
 material for several years. The average life 
 of the roof and walls is five years, when they 
 must be entirely renewed. 
 
 There is a little corner or room at one side of 
 the front of the house which is set aside as a 
 
Of the Barmans Burmese iii 
 
 cooking place. The “stove” is a low, wide box 
 filled with earth. On it are large stones on 
 which the cooking utensils are placed, and 
 among which the fire is built. The rice is cooked 
 in an earthen pot ; but the most common utensil 
 is a large, shallow iron bowl in which many 
 foods are boiled in grease. The Burman is 
 very fond of fatty foods. 
 
 Beds are usually made up on the floor, but 
 some have a low wooden bed with bamboo strips 
 for springs. A double mat or thin mattress is 
 placed on top of the bamboo strips. The pillow 
 is round and high and hard. There are no 
 chairs, and a mat on the floor or a low platform 
 serves as a table. 
 
 Except in the larger towns, where there are 
 sanitary laws rigidly enforced, all refuse and 
 foul matter is let drop through the floor of the 
 house, or dumped into the yard or street. It 
 is no trouble at all to do the sweeping. During 
 the rainy season the water is usually a foot 
 or more deep beneath the house, and all wastes 
 go into that. One can easily imagine the mess 
 that is presented at the subsidence of the 
 stagnant water. If it were not for the animal 
 and insect scavengers, conditions would be in- 
 deed deplorable. But chickens, ducks, crows, 
 vultures, dogs, pigs, and ants attack the waste, 
 
1 12 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 and thus save the lives of the people from 
 many epidemics. Is it any wonder that these 
 filth consumers have the freedom of the house 
 and are never killed? 
 
 In such a house, and under such conditions, 
 little Burmese boys and girls come into the 
 world. And yet their early years are happy 
 ones. They are named according to the day of 
 the week on which they were born, to this 
 extent: with each day of the week go certain 
 letters of the Burmese alphabet, and the initial 
 letter of the child’s name must be one of the 
 letters which go with his day. There are no 
 family names, and it is difficult to distinguish 
 members of the same family by any similiarity 
 of names. But at times there is an intentional 
 likeness in sounds, as witness the following 
 four names of boys in the same family: Maung 
 Thaw, Po Kaw, Po Pyaw, Ba Kyaw. 
 
 As may be seen from these four, the names 
 are usually composed of two monosyllabic 
 words. Much more so than in English they are 
 taken from the common nouns of the language. 
 In our language we have the family names, 
 Black, Gardener, House, Rose, Kitchen, etc., all 
 of which are in ordinary use as common nouns. 
 In Burma practically all of the names are of 
 this sort; and many of them are such grotesque 
 
Of the Burmans Burmese nj 
 
 combinations that they sound very strange to 
 us. They might be anything from Beautiful 
 Love, Golden Rice, and Fragrant Flower, to 
 Hot Needle, Cross Wife, and Cocoanut Oil. 
 Maung is the common word for Mr., and Ma 
 for Miss or Mrs. Sometimes, because of his 
 small size as a baby, a boy will be given the 
 name Little Mister (Maung Ngae) or some 
 other name to indicate a tiny body; and then 
 he will grow up to be quite a large man, and 
 will be ashamed to be called little. So he has 
 the privilege of changing his name to Big 
 Mister (Maung Gyi). 
 
 While women and girls are not looked down 
 upon in Burma as in many other countries of 
 the East, yet boys are more desirable, and the 
 Burman “lets the women do the work” more 
 than Westerners like to see. The husband 
 precedes his wife on the street, and she carries 
 the bundles. Only boys are thought to be 
 worth educating. But in babyhood both boys 
 and girls are treated much the same. 
 
 Among the first lessons the little ones must 
 learn are getting used to the hot sun and enjoy- 
 ing a cold bath. Not for them the thick sun- 
 helmet of the European, so they crawl about 
 bareheaded, meanwhile developing a thick crop 
 of coarse, black hair. Almost white at birth, 
 
In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 1 14 
 
 The Boys Find Delightful Climbing Places among Old Shrines 
 
 mother does not scruple to expose the tiny 
 bare body to the mid-day sun for a time each 
 
Of the Burmans Burmese 7/5 
 
 day to accustom it to the glare and actinic 
 rays. So it isn’t long till babies might be 
 likened to roasted coffee beans. 
 
 With most Burmans the daily bath is a joy; 
 and they keep their bodies and clothes scrupu- 
 lously clean. Still, few babies are naturally 
 aquatic, and they must be taught to like the 
 water. It is a common sight to see a mother 
 with her diminutive charge at the bath. At 
 a certain time in the morning she takes the 
 little one, perhaps not able to sit up alone yet, 
 sets it on a stone at the front steps, and pours 
 water over its little body by the pail full. Of 
 course the operation is accompanied by lusty 
 howls from the victim, punctuated by blubbers; 
 but the motto in this regard is, Spare the water 
 and spoil the child; so the unfeeling parent is 
 unconcerned. Consequently the babe soon 
 learns to laugh and crow all through the deluge ; 
 and if there is a stream or pond near his home, 
 he grows up to take to water like a duck. 
 
 Both sexes run around absolutely naked till 
 they are five or six years old. The little girls 
 are given the task of taking care of their little 
 brothers, even when that same little brother is 
 nearly as big as his big sister. And so, as the 
 little governess plays with the neighbor girls 
 she will carry baby brother astride her hip, 
 
1 1 6 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 holding him on with one arm and playing with 
 the other. I have seen some lazy brothers 
 carried this way when they were so big that 
 their feet almost touched the ground. This 
 would give every little Burmese girl curvature 
 of the spine, were it not that when she is tired 
 of him on one hip she deftly switches him over 
 to the other “on the fly.” And then, too, 
 girls and women carry their burdens on their 
 heads, and this gives them an erect carriage; 
 while the men never do, and so have round 
 shoulders. The straddle of mother’s or sister’s 
 hip while children makes the Burmese adult 
 walk with a spraddle that is far from elegant. 
 
 When little Maung or Ma put on clothes each 
 dresses just exactly as father or mother does, 
 and incidentally tries to imitate the parent in 
 dress effects. Their head gear is different 
 however. They wear nothing to correspond to 
 hats yet; but the boy lets his hair grow long, 
 and it is tied around with a string tight to his 
 head, the ends dangling out behind like the 
 tops of a bunch of green vegetables. The little 
 girl either follows his style or may do hers up 
 in a little knot on top. 
 
 About the time the boy begins to emerge 
 from babyhood to boyhood, he is sent to the 
 kyaung, or monastic school. The kyaungs are 
 
Of the Bur mans Burmese nj 
 
 usually located in a secluded part of the village 
 or town, and are surrounded by a court inclosed 
 with a cactus hedge or tall fence. The priests 
 are of all ages, and live together. They carry 
 umbrellas or large palm-leaf fans to protect 
 themselves from the sun, and are given to 
 betel-nut chewing, expectorating the red juice 
 in evety direction. 
 
 The kyaung serves as a primary boarding 
 school, the priests taking full charge of the young- 
 sters. During the two years they remain, the little 
 fellows act as servants to the priests, carrying 
 water, cooking food, and attending them on 
 their journeys, for a priest must not carry a 
 burden. They do not don the yellow robe 
 during these two years, but their heads are 
 shaved. They are compelled to attend school 
 for some time each day, and are taught the 
 forms and prayers of the Buddhist religion, 
 and incidentally to read, write, spell, and figure. 
 Thus every male Burman is able to read and 
 write, a great advantage these people have 
 over the other peoples of the East. Practically 
 all of their mental work is memorizing, the 
 priests having whole books by heart. 
 
 While the boys are attending this school their 
 lot is not hard. After duties are done they have 
 their fun as all boys do the world around. 
 
ii8 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Usually the food is good, having been begged 
 from door to door from a liberal people who are 
 glad to get merit by feeding the priests. When 
 the time is up the boys may return home, as 
 
 The Boys Attend the Priests and Learn their Lessons at the Kyaung 
 
 most of them do ; or they may remain and 
 after ten years become priests and live an 
 easy and meditative life. The priest must 
 forego the joys of home and family, but he has 
 a part in much of the pleasures of his people, 
 since all good times are had in the name of 
 religion. 
 
 Meanwhile the little girl is helping mother 
 
Of the Barmans Burmese iiq 
 
 at home. In the early dawn she is up to help 
 pound the husk off the rice for the day’s food. 
 She learns just how to cook the rice in the little 
 earthen pot set on three stones with the fire 
 between. She acquires the art of putting the 
 right ingredients and the right amount of each 
 into the curry to make it tasty, which is a culin- 
 ary accomplishment not easily acquired. As soon 
 as the meal is cooked she dashes water on the 
 remaining half-burned sticks of wood, with a 
 fuel economy born of necessity. 
 
 The man of the house has been at work in the 
 fields while mother and daughter have gone to 
 the market to buy food for the day; and break- 
 fast is not eaten till about ten o’clock, although 
 when first getting up they often eat a light 
 lunch and drink some hot tea. The family 
 surround a clean mat spread on the floor or 
 on the ground under the house, and the rice 
 and curry pots are placed in the center. Each 
 person has a large enamel plate or banana leaf, 
 a small bowl, and, if the curry is watery, a crude 
 spoon. The plates are heaped high from the 
 central receptacle with the use of a half cocoanut 
 shell or the bare hand. The eating proceedure is 
 without ceremony, and consists of first mixing 
 a little curry with a little rice at the base of 
 the mountain of that article on the plate, 
 
120 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 taking a surprisingly large wad of the mixture 
 between the thumb and the first two fingers, 
 then switching the mouthful onto the fingers 
 with the thumb just back of it, and finally 
 quickly shooting the whole into the mouth with 
 a flip of the thumb. This is the main article 
 of diet, and gives the name to all meals — curry - 
 and-rice, that’s a meal. It may be topped off, 
 among the better classes or on special occasions, 
 with other viands; but curry and rice provide 
 the staples. The food is eaten very rapidly, 
 and there might be more indigestion if the 
 rice were not easily digested and the curry 
 stimulating. 
 
 After breakfast, the father lies down for a 
 snooze till about three o’clock in the afternoon, 
 a wise custom in such a hot climate. Then 
 if he is industrious, as industry goes in Burma, 
 or if necessity demands, he works till sundown. 
 The heaviest meal of the day is taken in the 
 evening. 
 
 Meanwhile, a very important part of the day’s 
 program is performed by the mother and small 
 children. They take the midday nap, too, 
 but not before the noontide wash and bath. 
 First, the mistress gathers together the para- 
 phernalia for the operation. Under one arm 
 she carries the daily wash, consisting perhaps 
 
Of the Burmans Burmese 
 
 121 
 
 of three or four garments. In her hand she 
 grasps a stick about the size and shape of half 
 a broom handle. She takes an old strip of 
 cloth, wraps it round and round itself into a 
 circle till it looks like a doughnut, and places 
 it on her head. This forms a nest for the 
 roundbottomed water jar, and protects her 
 head as she carries it. As nearly as they can the 
 children equip themselves like the mother; and 
 then all set off for the washing place, the little 
 ones bearing their small jars on their heads as 
 jauntily as they would wear hats. 
 
 Every neighborhood has a place to wash 
 body and clothing. It may be a stream or a 
 lake. Often it is an open well, perhaps without 
 a curb to keep the foul water from draining 
 back in. The first house we lived in at Meiktila 
 was on the shore of Meiktila Lake, the water 
 of which is used by natives and Europeans for 
 drinking and all other purposes, there being 
 no wells. 
 
 I will describe the scene we witnessed every 
 noon on the shore of this lake. Be it under- 
 stood that the civil authorities use every 
 legitimate means to keep this water pure. No 
 sewage is supposed to go into it, and bathing 
 in it is prohibited. 
 
 Our Burmese mother and her two little girls 
 
122 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 approach the bank and join the group already 
 there. Near the water’s edge are several flat 
 stones and slabs of wood. She fills her water 
 pot at the lake and squats down with it by a 
 stone — her washboard, if you please. Her soiled 
 iongee (skirt) is extracted from the bundle, and 
 thoroughly wetted and soaped. It is then placed 
 in a wad on the stone and vigorously hammered 
 with the stick. This primitive washing machine 
 works on the same principle as the up-to-date, 
 electrically-run affairs, and when the method 
 is energetically and patiently applied it does 
 the work as thoroughly. The soapy water is 
 forced through the cloth and removes the dirt. 
 When the garment is well cleansed and rinsed 
 she spreads it out on the grass, and the beating 
 sunshine does more than a drying work upon it. 
 The girls imitate the mother and operate on their 
 own little garments, but usually the mother has 
 to finish the work they start. 
 
 The other garments are washed in due 
 course, and then she takes her bath. Un- 
 fastening her sack-like Iongee at the waist, she 
 fastens the top of it above her breasts, the 
 bottom reaching to her knees. Then her light 
 coat is removed and she is ready for the water. 
 Filling the water pot, and grasping the top 
 of it firmly with both hands, she suddenly 
 
Of the Barmans Burmese 
 
 123 
 
 raises it and turns it up-side-down over her 
 head — a shower bath de luxe ! If she would have 
 it run slowly she fits the mouth of it more 
 tightly on her head, and the water trickles 
 down. 
 
 When well soaked in this way, she applies 
 the soap; and does it by simply inserting one 
 arm and hand inside the cloth bathroom formed 
 by her longee, and holding the top of the longee 
 tightly about her shoulders with the other 
 hand. When this is finished she rinses off the 
 soap by the shower method, gathers up the 
 recently washed and now dry longee from the 
 grass, slips it over her head and down over the 
 wet one, and, while holding the dry one in place, 
 unfastens the wet from beneath and lets it drop 
 to her feet. She then adjusts the dry, steps out 
 of the wet, and stands forth clean, having per- 
 formed her ablutions in public with all decency 
 .and womanly modesty. 
 
 Next, the garment she has used as a bathroom 
 is washed, and while it is drying she sits on her 
 heels, puffs at a big cigar, and gossips with her 
 fellow washers. The little ones have gravitated 
 to the water, in spite of the prohibiting sign, 
 and now sport in high glee. What matters if 
 some can not swim? They turn their water 
 pots up-side-down in the water, and the captive 
 
124 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 air makes of them excellent floats. Also, they 
 form airbags for the same purpose by taking 
 off their soaked and almost air-tight longees, 
 fixing them like a sack, and with a quick move- 
 ment filling them with air and plunging their 
 openings under the water. Poverty is the 
 father of invention. 
 
 The frolic and gossip over, the whole company 
 step into the lake a few feet, right wdiere the 
 washing has been going on and all the dirty 
 water has drained back in, and fill their jars 
 to be carried back home for drinking and cook- 
 ing purposes. In fact, the average Burman, 
 if he thinks about it at all, seems to work on 
 the theory that water is water, and in some way 
 purifies itself. Anyway, if it looks fairly clean 
 it is all right. While such things are not common, 
 we have seen a man wade down into a pond 
 in the dry season, push away the green scum 
 on the water from the place where he stood, 
 wash his feet and legs, cleanse his mouth and 
 teeth, and then fill his cans with drinking water 
 from exactly the same spot. One wonders how 
 they manage to live through such practises. 
 The truth is, in many cases they do not. 
 As to those who do manage to live their alloted 
 time, shall we say for them that the germ theory 
 does not work in Burma; or is the following 
 
Of the Burmans Burmese 125 
 
 explanation more satisfactory? By the diseases 
 which result from unsanitary conditions, such as 
 plague and cholera, very large numbers are 
 taken off every year. But many always escape, 
 because of an unusually good physique or other 
 favorable conditions; and in thus being able 
 to hold the germs at bay they build up a degree 
 of immunity to these diseases, which immunity 
 is passed on to succeeding generations. For 
 it does seem true, as someone has said, that 
 there are those of the natives of the East who 
 “could swallow a spoonful of plague germs and 
 not get the plague.” Yet one of them, if he 
 came to America, might very easily die of the 
 measles. 
 
 To return to the day’s routine; after the 
 customary napping time in the hot hours, the 
 waning period of light is spent as far as possible 
 in taking it easy till evening meal time. Games 
 that must be played by daylight are indulged 
 in by the youth. But this recreation hour, 
 and more especially the joy-time that comes 
 after the evening meal, are so different from 
 the humdrum of the Burmese day that they 
 deserve special treatment in the chapter on 
 play time. 
 
 When our Burmese boy reaches the years of 
 adolescence he must take on man’s estate, which 
 
126 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 he does outwardly by being tattooed, and by 
 donning a bright-colored band of silk cloth 
 around his head. Of course, at this period, 
 like youth the world over, his fancy runs to 
 vari-eolored clothes of the flashy type. 
 
 The tattooing ordeal is an event and a turning 
 point in his young life, for the way he bears 
 it has much to do with his rating among his 
 fellows. He is now a man, and, if he values his 
 reputation, not a whimper escapes him during 
 the painful operation. 
 
 His sister, too, sees a change in her status 
 in her early teens. Her confirmation for the 
 rating of a woman is shown by having her ears 
 bored for ear-rings. The ceremony is made a 
 gala occasion. Relatives and friends gather 
 as to a festival, and there is much music and 
 eating and a general good time. However, this 
 follows the ceremony. An adept at ear-boring 
 is secured, and the company make merry as he 
 pierces the victim’s ear lobes. This is to attract 
 the attention of the little sufferer from her 
 pain. 
 
 As the sores heal the holes are kept open 
 and made larger by inserting grass-blades and 
 wooden pegs in them, and occasionally twisting 
 the insertions. The usual order is to continue 
 to enlarge the openings until they are half an 
 
Of the Barmans Burmese 
 
 127 
 
 inch in diameter. In the meantime appropriate 
 ornaments are worn in the ears, — also weights, 
 which help to enlarge the holes. We have often 
 seen women use these holes for cigar carriers. 
 Some of the hill tribes extend the lobes till they 
 are mere ribbons of flesh reaching to the shoul- 
 ders, with holes so large that a man’s arm could 
 be run through them. 
 
 When Ma Burma has passed the ear-boring 
 crisis her hair is bobbed on a level with her 
 ear lobes, and this is a sign that she is eligible for 
 marriage. Before long she will perhaps work 
 (or play) at selling silks in the bazaar. The 
 silk bazaar is the place above all places in 
 Burma for the beginning of romance. Here 
 she makes eyes at Maung Burma, who at this 
 time has a surprising interest in silks. 
 
 The courting is all very decorously done, how- 
 ever, and the two are never seen alone together. 
 They have the heart-beats that make the whole 
 world kin; but the manner of approach is quite 
 different and altogether admirable in many 
 ways. His evening call on her is characteristic. 
 
 About nine o’clock young Maung sallies forth 
 with a boon companion, who is on the same 
 quest after his own particular lady. One of the 
 two will perhaps play a flute as they go along 
 together, and the other yells a love song at the 
 
128 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 top of his voice. The ditty seems to have 
 neither rhyme nor rhythm, time nor tune. No 
 matter if the neighbors hear, and are made 
 aware of what is going on. Why should youth 
 be ashamed? 
 
 The serenade continues till her home is 
 reached and maybe for a while in front of it. 
 Then, the accompanist remains in the street 
 while the chief actor proceeds up the steps to the 
 little veranda. The demure miss has dressed 
 herself in her best array for the occasion, and now 
 sits waiting for her caller. Her finest silk 
 clothing is in display, her dark hair well oiled 
 and bedecked with combs and sweet scented 
 little white flowers, and her face — well, it is 
 ghostly. Burmese women use a sort of creamy 
 paste on their faces to bleach the skin whiter, 
 and it does have a very marked effect. Still, 
 our love-lorn maiden often does not get the de- 
 gree of whiteness she desires, and so leaves some 
 of the paste on her skin. It makes her ashy 
 pale, but she deems it beauty. The layer of 
 paste hardens, and if she moves her features 
 it will crack and fall off ; so she sits very stiffly, 
 and her expressionless countenance resembles 
 that of the image at the village pagoda. 
 
 Her admirer keeps his distance, for her parents 
 are somewhere within hearing or sight, and it is 
 
Of the Barmans Burmese I2Q 
 
 5 
 
 A Posed Courtship 
 
ijo In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 very improper for him to be too familiar. But 
 they talk and laugh, he doing most of it, for 
 she is shy; and, too, she must be careful not to 
 crack her cosmetic. 
 
 When they have had their visit out, the 
 attentive swain rejoins his fellow, and together 
 they go to visit the latter’s young lady. While 
 the procedure I have described is not by any 
 means always followed in every detail, yet it 
 is a picture of a custom that prevails among 
 the best families. When marriage is settled 
 upon, the parents’ consent is obtained and the 
 dowry arranged. The nuptial ceremony is 
 held at the bride’s home, and the bridegroom 
 pays the expenses of the feast and the presents ; 
 for presents are given, not received, by the 
 principals at a wedding. It could not be said 
 that the marriage is solemnized, for it is strictly 
 a social event, not civil nor religious. No priests 
 are present. 
 
 In the old days the bride and bridegroom are 
 said to have fed each other with a little rice and 
 to have given each other a drink of tea; and 
 that constituted the essential part of the unit- 
 ing of the two. But now even that custom is 
 not followed, and the union is cemented by 
 the festivities and the general consent of all 
 concerned. 
 
Of the Burmans Burmese 131 
 
 The youthful couple launch out on married 
 life by remaining a few years in the harbor of 
 the wife’s parental home. And this is a safe 
 course, since marriage is entered into very 
 commonly when the boy is seventeen or eighteen 
 and the girl fifteen or even younger. But when 
 he is able to support a separate home they 
 break away, and only then attain real maturity. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE LURE IN THE GOSPEL NET 
 
 1 WAS comfortably settled in a second-class 
 compartment on the evening train north 
 out of Rangoon. Hoping that I would not 
 have many fellow-passengers to crowd me, at 
 least not boresome ones, I spent the spare time 
 looking out of the windows at the prospective 
 travelers. In the last five minutes before the 
 departure of the train, a friendly -looking 
 foreigner piled into my snugness with all the 
 numerous traps of a moving European bent on 
 a long journey. 
 
 He dropped into his seat as the train pulled 
 out, and we passed the time of day. 
 
 “How long since you came from America?” 
 he asked. 
 
 Now I had been in the country just three 
 months, but I wasn’t telling anyone about it. 
 
 “What makes you think I came from Ameri- 
 ca?” I parried, in my ignorance. 
 
 He laughed good-naturedly. “I knew it as 
 soon as you opened your mouth,” he said. 
 
 32 
 
The Litre in the Gospel Net ijj 
 
 And right there I began to learn that an 
 experienced traveler can tell very much about 
 a man by how he talks, as well as by what 
 he says. We were soon conversing pleasantly, 
 and he told me that he was a missionary of a 
 society doing a large work in Burma. In turn, 
 I told him my connections, and, as we became 
 better acquainted, of the work I was attempting. 
 
 “An industrial school to teach the Burmans 
 how to work!” he ejaculated. “Well, I hope 
 you succeed, for the country" badly needs such 
 institutions; but I fear for your success. Let 
 me tell you about our experience; and, by the 
 way, there is an interesting little tale connected 
 with it. ” 
 
 I smiled my appreciation of any former 
 experience in technical education in Burma, for 
 I had heard that there hadn’t been any, outside 
 of jails and reformatories. So I settled myself 
 a little more comfortably on an uncomfortable 
 seat, and he began. In substance this is 
 what he told me: 
 
 “Several years ago there were two young Ger- 
 mans, brothers, connected with a large shipping 
 firm with headquarters at Hamburg. One of the 
 young men was sent to Bombay to act as agent 
 for the firm at that Indian port. The other 
 remained in Hamburg. The young fellow in 
 
134 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 India took in the sights at off hours, and 
 observed that thousands of little idol gods were 
 sold in the native shops to Hindu worshipers. 
 These were fashioned in a crude way by the 
 hands of native workmen. He conceived the 
 bold idea of having a large number of these 
 images “made in Germany” by special process 
 and shipped in quantities to India to under-sell 
 the local idol market. That’s what I call 
 business instinct gone to seed. 
 
 “ He communicated the scheme to his brother 
 in Hamburg, and between them they procured 
 capital and started a wholesale idol manufac- 
 tory. The first shipment was large, and started 
 safely on its way. And just about that time 
 the Bombay brother happened into a watch- 
 meeting one night in the city, and was con- 
 verted. 
 
 “ In the midst of his new-found joy he suddenly 
 thought of the connection between that idol 
 business and the profession of a Christian. 
 He decided that the only consistent thing to do 
 was to turn down the whole proposition im- 
 mediately. He hastily cabled to Hamburg to 
 stop the shipment. But it was too late. Then 
 he wired to his brother that he could not go 
 on with the business, and would not receive 
 the shipment. The brother pleaded, threatened, 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net 135 
 
 and stormed in vain. The idols were dumped 
 on the wharf at Bombay, and I don’t know 
 what ever became of them. 
 
 “ But we were concerned about what became 
 
 The Burmese are Good Hands at Weaving and Make Excellent Silk Cloth 
 
 of the young man. He made up his mind to 
 stay in the country and join our mission force. 
 He was well suited for industrial school work, 
 so he was encouraged with good backing to 
 start one here in Burma. He planned a farm- 
 school, with other industries to follow. Pos- 
 sessed of ingenuity and plodding energy, he 
 soon had things in fine shape, — good land, water 
 
136 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 piped to all parts of it, and other improvements. 
 His whole scheme was something like yours, 
 — but he failed.” 
 
 “Why?” I asked. 
 
 “Well, he had to give it up, mainly because 
 the Burman does not take kindly to work 
 with his hands. He does not connect school 
 with work at all. To him an education is a 
 means to escape work. Some think the govern- 
 ment has encouraged this view of the matter 
 by giving a good clerical job to every Burman 
 who can use his head. But, in the nature of the 
 ease, all over the East there is a great demand 
 for intellectual ability. The schooled Burman 
 becomes a sa yay gyi , — a chief writer. The 
 great majority of the people don’t see the need 
 of industrial education; and those who do are 
 perfectly willing that it shall be given to the 
 other man’s boy. It will go hard with anyone 
 who starts something along the line you plan. 
 The societies who have worked here for scores 
 of years have given it up till the country as a 
 whole makes much greater progress toward 
 civilized conditions.” 
 
 With this, my companion turned to speak with 
 another passenger who had boarded the train, 
 and I was left to my own thoughts. They 
 were not comforting. I was crushed, and did 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net 137 
 
 not care to talk. To this day I do not believe 
 that he was trying to discourage me, but he 
 felt that I ought to know the truth as he saw 
 it, and as experience taught. 
 
 The train roared on through the wide-stretch- 
 ing fields, white under the moon, and as I 
 lay there and looked out into the hazy tropical 
 night, memories of the past three months 
 rushed over me like a flood. We had left 
 home with our two little ones with the highest 
 of hopes. From the time that we broke up till 
 we were ready to settle down at our station in 
 Burma, six months of wearisome journeying 
 and long delays had passed. We had been 
 anxious to fit into our new home, and begin 
 work. The only available house was a little one 
 which we had to rent, in the native part of the 
 town. It had an iron roof, which the sun 
 turned into the top of a stove. It was unclean, 
 inhabited by roaches, mice, lizards, and other 
 unpleasant hosts. The surroundings were un- 
 sanitary, and swarmed with pariah dogs, crows, 
 and dirty children. The smells were sickening. 
 When Mrs. Thurber first stepped up to the door 
 of our abode-to-be and looked in, she said noth- 
 ing. But in a moment she leaned against the 
 door-post and burst into tears — just like a 
 woman. And, just like a man, I wanted to 
 follow her example but didn’t dare. 
 
Remarkably Intricate Wood Carvings Executed by Burinans 
 
 138 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net ijq 
 
 Then, just when I had gotten a good start on 
 the language, which I was told must be gotten 
 in the main the first year or not at all, we were 
 told that we must start the school right away, 
 or no more money could be solicited. However 
 that was, money had ceased to come in on the 
 fund. And more, the native custodian of the 
 money already gathered had dipped his hand 
 into the bag and “borrowed” a large share of 
 the cash in hand. There was no help available 
 from the mission then; and so we had about 
 $150 with which to build an institution. 
 
 And then this. We were planning to make 
 the industries the attractive feature of the 
 school. We knew that the boys would not be 
 drawn by the truths of Christianity; not at 
 first. But the trades were to be the lure in the 
 gospel net. We deceived no one, nor expected 
 to do so ; for the natives generally know what the 
 chief purpose of the missionary is. We would do 
 just as we agreed, teach trades thoroughly, and 
 force no one to accept our views. Yet we would 
 all the time hope and pray and work to the end 
 that some boys would see in passing the greater 
 good of the heart education that Christianity 
 affords. 
 
 But if our attraction wouldn’t attract, what 
 then? We could not hope to compete success- 
 
140 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 fully with the schools already established, 
 which gave attention to intellectual education 
 alone. 
 
 So in this our land of promise, cities of 
 hopelessness were being built, walled up to 
 heaven, and peopled with giants. And we, 
 poor, insignificant Calebs and Joshuas, were 
 presuming to hope that they could be subdued. 
 
 Right there on the train that night was 
 fought the battle and was won the victory that 
 for me had everything to do with our future 
 work. But I did not fight it alone. I merely 
 accepted the victory that was gained for me 
 by One long ago. I found that I was not dis- 
 couraged, only discomfited for a while. And 
 it is hoped that the reader will draw the right 
 conclusion from this recital; and that is, that 
 every worker for God has such experiences 
 time and again, when the emotions overtop the 
 faith and hope for a little period, after which 
 the will to do and dare for God emerges with a 
 baptism of strength that knows no defeat. 
 
 We brushed away our tears; for this was only 
 one side of things as they were. There were 
 many compensating joys: the new sights to 
 see, a genial people to get acquainted with, a 
 language to conquer, a consciousness that we 
 were greatly needed, a vision to materialize, 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net 141 
 
 abundance of hard work to help forget, and 
 above all, souls to see accept Christ. 
 
 The obvious first thing was to start some- 
 thing to prove that we meant to make good. 
 So we rented a large room in an old brick 
 building that had stood vacant for some time, 
 and opened school. David Hpo Hla and 
 Maung Ba Tin, two of our Burmese workers, 
 came up from Lower Burma to teach in the 
 vernacular. We bought some old benches, a 
 table or two ; and a washstand served as a 
 teacher’s desk. Some boys sat on the floor at 
 first, but it was largely plaster and dirt, and 
 good school work can not be done on the floor. 
 
 Carpentry was the first trade taught, for 
 several reasons: I had had some experience in 
 woodworking, we needed school furniture right 
 away, and of the practical trades the Burman 
 has the least objection to it. He has a natural 
 ability in wood-carving. We early saw that it 
 would not be wise to introduce any modern 
 complicated tools or machinery; for we wanted 
 to teach them just as they would have to do 
 when they left us. The Chinese are the best 
 carpenters and cabinet makers in the country; 
 so we hired an old Chinese carpenter to let the 
 boys look at him work while he made some 
 school desks for us. But he couldn’t make a 
 
142 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 desk without a pattern, and a picture wouldn’t 
 do. A drawn plan he couldn’t get into his 
 head at all. So I went to work and made a 
 seat group for an example, and after that he did 
 quite well. 
 
 A Corner of One of our First School Rooms with our Home-Made Desks 
 
 About twenty boys attended at the start; 
 and soon this number was increased to thirty. 
 They were a playful lot, ranging from eight 
 years up to twenty-five, and in education they 
 varied all the way through the common school 
 grades. 
 
 Thus far, all well and good; but we could 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net 143 
 
 not continue long at that rate. There was 
 another school in the town conducted by another 
 society; and it was large and well located and 
 equipped. We did not wish to antagonize it 
 in its line of book education and training for 
 government service. Our line was industrial 
 combined with intellectual. But as soon as all 
 the school furniture we could afford was com- 
 pleted, we had no more use for the Chinese 
 carpenter, for two reasons: first, he couldn’t 
 teach because he was cranky, and had no idea 
 of teaching principles; and he wouldn’t make an 
 effort to teach because if the boys learned to do 
 as well as he did, he would have less chance to 
 get work in an overstocked labor market. 
 Second, the very small tuition charge that we 
 were able to make would not pay his wage, and 
 we were not making any product that we could 
 sell. 
 
 Finally, all our difficulties resolved them- 
 selves into the one of procuring money to buy 
 land, build workshops and equip them, and pay 
 teachers; that is, to get a fair start at such a 
 program, so that something could be manu- 
 factured that would make the trades largely 
 self-supporting. It was unheard-of to raise any 
 large amount of money for Christian schools 
 from among the natives of Burma. Yet as we 
 
144 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 prayed and worked, the thought pressed in 
 upon us that we should do something right 
 there to get the necessary money. 
 
 So the day came when, with not any more 
 faith than we needed, we started our big drive; 
 or, since the East can’t be driven, perhaps we 
 had better call it a big push. Our good brother 
 A. W. Steevens, the government prosecutor, 
 was an excellent standby, and gave valiant aid. 
 Small amounts were raised in various ways, 
 but it was felt that the most promising sources 
 of supply would be among the merchants of 
 Rangoon and in the oil fields of the Irrawaddy; 
 the first, because the business men sensed the 
 need of the country more than others, and the 
 second because it was a prosperous section 
 where there were many warm, liberal American 
 hearts. Brethren Votaw and Steevens solicited 
 the business men in the city and met with 
 good success. The money did not come in large 
 amounts, but it must be remembered that they 
 were soliciting non-Christian men who were not 
 at all supposed to be favorable to Christian 
 missions. Our hearts bounded with joy when 
 we heard that one wealthy Chinese wholesale 
 merchant had given 'i,ooo rupees ($320). 
 
 Then we were ready for the oil country. 
 Brother Votaw and I were to make the attack, 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net 145 
 
 and we were determined to make it a success. 
 The trip was not without attractive features, as 
 may be understood from a description of the 
 situation. 
 
 The First Happy School Family 
 
 Aside from the work of the American mis- 
 sionaries, oil-well drilling might be called the 
 American occupation of Burma. It seems 
 strange, yet it is said to be true, that in every 
 oil field of the world men from the United 
 vStates superintend the drilling. Mechanics of 
 other nationalities can not or will not learn the 
 business. It is the only trade that I have ever 
 heard of that all other peoples concede is not in 
 
146 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 their line. Hundreds of drillers are brought 
 half-way around the world at great expense, are 
 paid large salaries, and are given special con- 
 cessions, as an absolute necessity to the drain- 
 ing of petroleum from Burma’s subterranean 
 treasure houses. 
 
 Standard Oil has invaded Burma, as every- 
 where, but only in the shape of the innocent- 
 looking five-gallon can. It is the best oil sold 
 in the country, and is indispensable for good 
 lamplight, but of course it is most expensive. 
 This mighty miracle of dread American trusts 
 is looked at askance by English capitalists; and 
 every time a tentacle of the great octopus feels 
 for a hold in British territory, it is promptly 
 cut or circumscribed. So English capital works 
 and controls this field. 
 
 The center of interest is on the bank of the 
 Irrawaddy at Yenangyaung, about halfway up 
 toward Mandalay. There are less-paying lo- 
 calities on both sides of the river for many 
 miles up and down, but “Bad-smelling-water 
 Creek” (the meaning of the Burmese name) 
 is the part which is especially well-oiled and oil- 
 welled. The field is somewhat off the beaten 
 path, and so the world tourists miss it. There 
 isn’t even a railway, and we approach from 
 the south on the broad back of the river. Huge 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net 147 
 
 red tanks dotting the hills first greet the view; 
 and then there comes into the range of vision 
 what at first appears to be a forest of tall, 
 bare trees back among the hills. These soon 
 resolve themselves into derricks, so numerous 
 and close together that they seem to touch 
 one another at the bases. Our little launch 
 edges up to the bank at the best landing, and 
 we are soon bumping along in our bullock-cart 
 conveyance by the pumping stations. On dry, 
 bare bluffs overlooking the river are perched 
 the well-kept and roomy bungalows of the 
 officers of the various companies. 
 
 A few miles more, and we are in the midst 
 of a lively scene. Many of the readers of this 
 know too well, perhaps, the sights and sounds 
 and odors of an oil region. I will not, therefore, 
 attempt to describe the features common to all 
 fields; but some of the characteristic aspects 
 will take your attention. 
 
 This particular field is most remarkable be- 
 cause it is so small and yet so inexhaustible. 
 Within an area no larger than that occupied 
 by an ordinary village, there are hundreds of 
 wells so close together that there is scarcely 
 room to work them. A circle with a radius of 
 twenty-one feet is all that can be gotten for 
 one site. The sites of the rival companies are 
 
148 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 all intermingled, and many wells tap the terri- 
 tory of others. This causes much interchange 
 of oil below — and words above — the surface 
 before the matter is settled. 
 
 There is much ingenuity displayed by the field 
 superintendents in getting first chance and best 
 advantage in drawing away oil from adjacent 
 territory. But this rivalry sometimes works to 
 the disadvantage of all concerned, as the follow- 
 ing will illustrate. One of the drillers told us 
 that as usual one day he pumped some water 
 into his well so that he could draw up in solution 
 the sediment that had accumulated by the drill- 
 ing; but as fast as it was pumped in, the water 
 ran off into the oil sand. This makes no small 
 trouble when working with heavy tools at a 
 distance of two thousand feet down, and he 
 bothered with it for two or three days before he 
 discovered what was the matter. Then he hap- 
 pened to be talking to a neighboring driller, 
 who said in the course of the conversation, 
 “ I don’t know what is the matter with my 
 well. I struck water day before yesterday, and 
 have been pumping it out ever since, but there 
 is no end to it.” One was pumping the same 
 water out that the other was pumping in. 
 
 The government controls the depth to which 
 the drills shall go. When one oil-sand is ex- 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net 149 
 
 hausted, permission is given to go deeper, and 
 there is a race to penetrate the next stratum. 
 And there is always oil below. This has been 
 going on for a period of over thirty years, and 
 millions of barrels of oil have been drawn from 
 this one locality ; yet still “ gushers ” are common. 
 
 Working Oil Wells in the Old Way 
 
 Yenangyaung was worked for many years 
 before modern machinery was used. In the olden 
 time the Burmans dug shallow wells, and with 
 bucket and rope drew up the product. Even 
 now a few of the old wells are being worked, 
 right in among the towering derricks and amid 
 the chugging of many steam pumps. These 
 primitive wells are now about four hundred 
 
ijo In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 feet deep, and about the width of an ordinary 
 water well. A man is let down by a rope, and 
 he fills the receptacle, which is drawn to the 
 surface by a number of Burmese men and 
 women pulling the rope to a certain distance 
 from the mouth of the well and coming back 
 by turns to get a new hold. Oil obtained in 
 this way is usually sold to the large companies 
 at about one dollar a barrel. 
 
 Each Amercan driller has a number of natives 
 to do the work while he directs it. Many of 
 these Burmese mechanics can manage the drilling 
 alone when all goes well, but none seem to learn 
 judgment for an emergency. Accidents are 
 common, and are costly if not met by expert 
 knowledge. 
 
 Here are Americans who have seen the 
 world — hardy “boys” who have made the 
 rounds of Pennsylvania, Ohio, Illinois, Texas, 
 and California, who have “fished” for tools in 
 the wells of Roumania and Russia, heard the 
 bullets whistle in the anti-Armenian riots in 
 Batum, and drilled for water on the arid plains 
 of west Australia. They are stalwart men; 
 rather rough, as drillers go, but withal good- 
 hearted. The work and the region do not 
 supply much that would soften character. 
 They work on a three-year contract that pro- 
 
The Temporary Work Shop, with the Boy* all Ready for Work 
 
ij2 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 vides that they must not bring wives with 
 them. A few wives of higher- wage men are 
 there, but few women can live there and be 
 satisfied, for there is little to attract. 
 
 Set down in that bleak place and compelled 
 to pay close attention to business, with only 
 five days in a year vacation, in the face of 
 every" temptation and vice that the Orient can 
 bring to bear, the men do not find conditions 
 conducive to straight living. No missionary 
 organization is working among them. In spite 
 of their independence and bravado they are 
 “as sheep without a shepherd. ’’ There is about 
 the place an atmosphere of no-one-knows-nor- 
 cares, and many a man goes bad and never 
 reaches home again. 
 
 But there is a brighter side. The minimum 
 wage is one hundred and fifty dollars a month, 
 and each man has half a large bungalow, rent 
 free. They have a “messing allowance,’’ which 
 enables many to save their whole salaries. 
 Each man has a pony, and they frequently 
 get out for a short hunt in the jungle. They 
 have subscribed for and built a pleasant club- 
 house, where there is plenty of reading and 
 entertainment provided. Some of the men who 
 have been ambitious and have been careful 
 of their habits and health have risen to better 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net 153 
 
 positions, and are able, after being in the field 
 for fifteen years, to retire on a comfortable 
 income. 
 
 We found nearly every man we met hospitable 
 and generous to a fault. Most of them are glad 
 to give to any mission enterprise. In the course 
 of several visits among them we received from 
 their liberality a large part of the fund we 
 were raising. 
 
 All together over seven thousand rupees 
 were donated in Burma for the school. As 
 soon as the first money was in hand we bought 
 25 acres of second-class land just outside the 
 town of Meiktila. It was in small pieces and 
 belonged to nine different owners. Within a 
 few days after the purchase, our Chinese 
 carpenter was beginning the creation of a 
 temporary workshop. We could not “hustle 
 the East,” and the work of building went for- 
 ward at a snail’s pace. “Labor troubles” that 
 Europe and America never know caused tedi- 
 ous delays. But at last, two years after we 
 arrived, the first building was ready for use. 
 It was built of teak wood, the best in the coun- 
 try, with a cement floor, red tile roof, and sub- 
 stantial bamboo matting for walls; and it 
 measured thirty-two by seventy- two feet. 
 
 It wasn’t a pretentious affair, not very 
 
The First School Building 
 
The Lure in the Gospel Net 
 
 155 
 
 beautiful, but to us it meant achievement. 
 Our vision had taken shape materially, though 
 the battle of principles was yet to come. Our 
 boys had taken hold nobly, and had disappointed 
 prophecies of their being too lazy to work. 
 When saya gyi (“chief teacher” — the mission- 
 ary) said, “Come on, boys,” they came; and 
 “coolie work” was no disgrace. 
 
 The holiday on which we moved out of the 
 hot, close, dirty, smelly town schoolroom to 
 our new quarters on the fresh-air hill rising 
 gently above Meiktila Lake, was a red-letter 
 day. We celebrated with a house-cooling, not 
 a house-warming. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE TONGUE AND THE SCRIPT 
 
 T HE missionary who tries to get the heart 
 of a heathen without first getting his 
 tongue, ends by getting his shoulder — 
 and that cold. The natives of Burma are just 
 about as much impressed by the message of a 
 foreigner speaking in his own tongue as we would 
 be if an Arab should visit America and jabber 
 at us Mohammedan prayers in the speech of 
 the desert, or try to convert us to belief in the 
 Koran scriptures by speaking through an in- 
 terpreter. The languages of eastern Asia present 
 an appalling obstacle to the propagation of the 
 gospel by Occidental peoples. 
 
 When one first comes into contact with the 
 people he is impressed by the glaring and ludi- 
 crous mistakes of the native when trying to 
 express himself in English. We laughed heartily 
 and knowingly at the blunders they made, 
 and failed utterly to temper our glee with the 
 thought that our cumbersome attempts at the 
 Burmese would be far more laughable to them. 
 They laughed last. 
 
 156 
 
The Tongue and the Script 157 
 
 In passing, it is well to know that the mis- 
 sionary- must get the laughing habit, if he 
 hasn’t it already. Not indulgence in the frivol- 
 ous giggling of the sentimentalist, nor in the 
 forced laugh of the maker of jokes; but the really 
 funny things in life do not come too often for 
 our good, and when they do it is well to give way 
 to a diaphragm-shaking laugh. If anywhere 
 “a merry heart doeth good like a medicine,” 
 it doeth it in the mission field. 
 
 The humor of the language blunderer is al- 
 ways a cause for mirth. We can all laugh at one 
 another’s expense in this, for every one who 
 tries to learn a foreign tongue will invariably 
 carry the idioms of his mother tongue over 
 into the new language, and of course make many 
 ludicrous mistakes. In a country like Burma, 
 where so many languages are spoken, and all 
 persons with any claim to education have a 
 trial at English in their own way, mistakes are 
 so common that they cease to attract notice. 
 However, many a time an Englishman or an 
 American has occasion to smile at the efforts 
 of the one with whom he is talking. And 
 although the native is usually too polite to laugh 
 in our faces when we torture his language, he 
 has a quiet burst of humor over it when we 
 are not around. 
 
158 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 A man who prided himself on his ability to 
 speak English glibly, when ordering a pair of 
 shoes specified that they must be broad-toed, 
 for he had “thorns between his fingers,” (corns 
 on his toes). But this is an exception. Usually 
 the correct thought is conveyed, but the idiom 
 is queer. The following are samples of letters 
 we have often received from parents of the 
 boys attending our school: — 
 
 “Dear Sir: If my son appears late at your 
 school again without a chit (note) of recom- 
 mendation, kindly slap him as he deserves. 
 For which kind favor I will ever pray.” 
 
 Another parent requested that her boy be 
 excused because of “domestic troubles,” which 
 troubles were explained to be the cooking of 
 the rice for dinner. 
 
 The teacher urged that specific reasons be 
 given for absence, and the following was pre- 
 sented: “San Po got a sore without cause on 
 the left side of his right knee. Pain as it was, 
 he tried his best to attend his class till Thursday, 
 after which he was entirely confined to his 
 bed. Hardly had it recovered before an eye- 
 sore made its appearance, which was the real 
 cause of his continued confinement during the 
 whole of last week. Therefore, on the strength 
 
The Tongue and the Script 
 
 159 
 
 of his pains I most respectfully beg you to 
 excuse him.” 
 
 “Sir, — I am Maung Pu pupil of you write 
 you a letter for few lines. The bee stings to my 
 
 The Girls’ School at Meiktila, Opened in Recent Years 
 
 face for this reason please give one day leave, 
 
 • ) 1 
 
 sir. 
 
 A peddler came to our friend’s door. He 
 was a jolly fellow with a broad smile congealed 
 on his face. In the course of a bantering con- 
 versation he was asked his name. He was very 
 proud to say that he had an English name. 
 
160 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 It was “Cheap Jack.” In fact, a number of 
 small business men flaunt this name in front 
 of their shops. 
 
 The public letter writer is very common, and 
 is often seen sitting under his umbrella in a 
 quiet corner. For a nominal fee he writes for 
 those who are aspiring after respectability or 
 are seeking favors from the higher classes. 
 Usually he does a thriving business. If his 
 English is just a smatter, no matter. Perhaps 
 he has the F. M. (failed matriculation) degree 
 from the university of Calcutta; and capital 
 letters after one’s name are enough to sub- 
 stantiate any claim to knowledge in the eyes 
 of a large class of his customers. 
 
 A friend of ours tried to re-hire a servant, 
 whom he had discharged because he had to 
 leave town. The servant now held a good 
 position and was loath to leave it, although 
 he liked his former master. So he hired a 
 scribe to write the following consoling note: 
 “Dear Sir you salaam, by Rama Because to 
 write this letter your letter got it me and then 
 reading your letter I am very glad to see. What 
 can i do sir My sahib cannot go from here I 
 am very sorry if not I had come there I cannot 
 come very Long please don’t sorry I request 
 to you.” 
 
The Tongue and the Script 161 
 
 A native Christian, when writing to his 
 teacher, sought, for variety’s sake, a synonym 
 of preserve, and rounded off his epistle with, 
 “May kind Providence pickle you.” 
 
 Signboards make interesting reading, and it 
 is worth a trip around Rangoon to discover 
 new creations. Over a diminutive barber shop 
 is one bidding us “Well Come, My Dear.” 
 A rising young doctor blazons his trade with 
 the shingle, “Maung Loo Galay, vaccinated 
 every Thursday.” A petty merchant gives 
 promise of sticking to the voyage when he 
 announces himself, “Baboo Khan, Syrup Sailor.” 
 A beggar carries this enlightening inscription : — 
 
 “Gentlemen and plea 
 se mercyupon this 
 poor helpless andl 
 ame man ladies.” 
 
 A Chinese whiskey seller has a large sign 
 with the picture of a bottle at the side, and the 
 words, “Ah Foke, licensed to be drunk on the 
 premises or removed.” 
 
 On a bookstall is: “Books writing paper 
 stationery pencils for the schoolboys all can get. ’ ’ 
 And on a restaurant appears: “Meat, fish, 
 eggs, curry, palow rice, all have got.” 
 
 The following in front of a signboard painter’s 
 6 
 
162 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 place gives evidence of a very peaceful alliance : 
 “L’entente cordiale of brains, wit, art and 
 energy in reproducing, designing, printing and 
 engraving. ” 
 
 A quack advertises a preparation which is 
 so powerful that it will make water run uphill, 
 and is guaranteed to produce a light-eom- 
 plexioned baby “even if the parents are the 
 darkest black.” 
 
 To return to the language of the country: 
 The most difficult part of the study of the 
 Burmese is the first part. And this is well, 
 because at first the new-comer goes at it with 
 the most enthusiasm. Long and steady appli- 
 cation is absolutely necessary in mastering the 
 rudiments. The usual initiation into the mys- 
 teries requires from six to ten hours a day for 
 the first year’s work; in fact, all the time that the 
 brain can do good work. A person should have 
 no other work or responsibilities other than 
 what would serve as a change or recreation. 
 We would judge that this first year’s work 
 would equal about three year’s foreign language 
 study as given in American schools. At the 
 end of this period one is expected to read 
 anything in the Gospel of John, translate at 
 sight the first four chapters, spell correctly, 
 name any common object, and converse freely 
 
The Tongue and the Script i6j 
 
 in simple conversation. This sounds easy, 
 but there is a long and weary road to it. During 
 the second year, half the time is spent on 
 study, and after being two years in the field 
 the learner is able to take the second examina- 
 tion, which is as far as most candidates go, 
 though then they are usually far from a mastery 
 of the Burmese. These Mongolian tongues 
 have absolutely no connection with, or likeness 
 to, the languages of the West. 
 
 The missionary, of course, can work for souls 
 more or less indirectly from the first. At 
 first thought it seems almost a waste of time to 
 spend so much time learning to talk; but we 
 must keep in mind that he is not learning 
 Burmese only, but also Burma and the Burman, 
 all of which is necessary to success. 
 
 CfcC|0$( 0033 £§CO 3 
 
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 The Beauty of the Native Script 
 
 A prominent factor in the pronunciation of 
 Burmese is betelnut juice; for many of the 
 sounds seem to be modified to suit a mouthful 
 
164 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 of knn, the national chew. The language in 
 writing looks like soap bubbles and horse shoes 
 playing leap-frog. It is read from top to bottom 
 and from left to right, as in English, but in 
 handwriting the Burman writes each letter 
 backward. The sound of the spoken Burmese 
 does not roll off the tongue as smoothly as its 
 written representation seems to roll across the 
 page. It does not strike the ear as mellifluously 
 as does the Hindustani. Really, there is a lack 
 of euphony, but the speaker improves on this 
 by corrupting certain sounds and filling in 
 awkward places with meaningless syllables. 
 
 Monosyllables are the rule, and exceptions to 
 this are compounds. The alphabet consists of 
 thirty-two letters, each with a sound of its 
 own; but certain appendages are added to all 
 letters, which multiply the sounds into the 
 hundreds. With a few exceptions the sounds 
 are similar to those in English, the tendency 
 being to have no vowel sounds at the beginning 
 of a word nor consonant sounds at the end. 
 Many of our English words end in ng, and many 
 Burmese words begin with this combination. 
 Foreigners generally find it difficult to say nga 
 (fish). To be exact, words do end in consonant 
 sounds, but only half of their full value in 
 English is pronounced in Burmese. For in- 
 
The Tongue and the Script 165 
 
 stance, when we say bit, at the last expulsion 
 of breath we let the tongue drop from the roof 
 of the mouth and the air is expelled through 
 nearly closed teeth; but the Burman says it 
 without dropping the tongue or expelling the 
 breath. Try saying it as he does. 
 
 Compared to the number who try, few 
 foreigners learn Burmese well ; and the same can 
 be said of Burmans learning English. One can 
 absorb the common street usage of Hindustani 
 in the East, just by often hearing ear-catching 
 expressions of it. But Burmese “goes in one 
 ear and out the other” without an accident. 
 
 There is no common greeting word in the 
 Burmese language. The native of India says 
 “Salaam,” which means “Peace be with you.” 
 But “Salaam” does duty for, “Good morning,” 
 “Thank you,” “Bon voyage,” “Good-by,” 
 “Come again,” “Welcome,” “You are right,” 
 “My respects to you,” “Good afternoon,” 
 “Good evening,” and “Good night.” But the 
 Burman contents himself with a smile in pass- 
 ing, an “Are you well?” when he comes, and an 
 “I will go” when he goes. 
 
 There is much to be learned about the ex- 
 pression of the ideas of a people by the way 
 they word their proverbs. Truth is the same 
 
mese proverbs with the corresponding English 
 ones : — 
 
 In a forest of pith the eastor-oil plant is king. 
 Among the blind the one-eyed man is king. 
 
 It is only where there is an elevation that a 
 shadow is east. There is no smoke without 
 some fire. 
 
 Should the front part of the house be hot, 
 the back part will be uncomfortable. When 
 chief persons disagree, there is unhappiness for 
 all. 
 
 t66 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 the world round, but the similes with which it 
 is expressed often differ. Here are some Bur- 
 
 Boys at the Monastery School 
 
The Tongue and the Script i6y 
 
 Playinga lute near a buffalo. Casting pearls 
 before swine. 
 
 When two buffaloes fight, the grass between 
 them can not prevent it. On two horns of a 
 dilemma. 
 
 Day does not dawn because the hen crows. 
 This is said to an interfering, officious woman. 
 
 You can’t straighten a dog’s tail by threading 
 it through a tube. You can’t reform a scoundrel. 
 
 Though the dog flea may jump, he raises no 
 dust. This is said to little people who try to 
 injure big ones. 
 
 Though the hen may cackle all day, she lays 
 but one egg. What will be, will be. 
 
 Teaching the king of the crocodiles the water 
 business. Carrying coals to Newcastle. 
 
 Every bird is as beautiful as the vulture. As 
 good fish are in the sea as ever came out of it. 
 
 Iron destroys and rusts itself. Man his own 
 enemy. 
 
 In the following rhyme I have put a few of 
 the idioms which are peculiar to the Burmese 
 language : — 
 
 A “little man’’ is Burmese term for hoy; 
 
 His “ stomach’s pleasant ’’ when he’s full of joy; 
 
 His “life’s no good ’’ when he is pained or sick; 
 
 He says “quick, quick,” when we’d say very 
 quick. 
 
i68 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Our chairs to him are simply “foreign seats”; 
 
 He “finds” the man with whom by chance he 
 meets; 
 
 When he is angry , then his “heart is bad”; 
 
 His “stomach’s little” when he’s very sad. 
 
 He has “arrived” when he has seen a place; 
 
 For Never mind, he says, “There is no ease.” 
 
 A “devil killer” is a gun that shoots; 
 
 He “drinks his cigarette” and “rides his 
 boots. ” 
 
 When moneyless, he “has not brought his 
 pice”; 
 
 He says “too nice” when he means very nice; 
 
 “Talk words” is just his way to entertain; 
 
 A “fire carriage” designates a train. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 FRUITS OF THE GROUND 
 
 A S WHEN a Burman thinks dinner he thinks 
 rice, so when he thinks farming he thinks 
 the same article — that substantial grain- 
 food of three-fourths of the world’s people. 
 And because to the other fourth rice suggests 
 only occasional soup-stock, breakfast food, and 
 raisin pudding, that other fourth has something 
 economical and appetizing to learn from the 
 rice-eaters. 
 
 The crop is planted everywhere in the bottom- 
 land mud puddles and on the upland hillside 
 terraces; and there is a dry land variety also. 
 The rich, wavy green of the limitless stretches 
 of the paddy-fields of Lower Burma affords a 
 charming background for many a lovely view. 
 
 The cultivation of rice is primitive and simple. 
 The seed is sown thickly in small beds first. 
 The fields are divided by low earth ridges 
 into irregular patches at slightly differing levels, 
 the better to control the water supply. These 
 patches are flooded with water, and stirred 
 
 70 
 
Fruits of the Ground iyi 
 
 with a crude plow to a soupy consistency. 
 When the plants are large enough they are set 
 out by hand in the standing water, — a tedious 
 task, when one considers that they are set as 
 close together as wheat is usually drilled. While 
 the crop grows, the care of it is a matter of 
 keeping the water at a proper level. It is reaped 
 with a sickle. A mowing machine would mire 
 in the soft ground. The threshing is done by 
 flailing or trampling, and the paddy thus pro- 
 duced looks much like oats as fed to horses. 
 The husk is commonly removed by pounding 
 the grain on a stone with a large, hammer- 
 like affair worked by the weight of the body. 
 
 Long before some ingenious American pro- 
 duced “puffed rice,” by “blowing it from guns,” 
 the hill-tribes of Burma had been puffing rice 
 for centuries — without the use of “guns,” which 
 is more wonderful still. On market day in the 
 hill-country a little Burmese woman will sit 
 down beside a pot of boiling oil, take a handful 
 of cooked rice with which a little sticky liquid 
 has been mixed, mould it into patties, take 
 it between two sticks, and souse it up and down 
 in the hot oil. In less than a minute it is puffed 
 rice, “blown to eight times its normal size”; 
 and with a little salt added it makes a tasty, 
 crisp biscuit to eat out of hand. 
 
172 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 But the Burinan regales himself with some- 
 thing else in the line of natural foods besides 
 rice. There are a few other grains raised, corn 
 principally, but legumes and vegetables abound 
 
 Threshing Rice by the Tramping of Water Buffaloes 
 
Fruits of the Ground 
 
 173 
 
 in their season. Peanuts are plentiful and 
 cheap, though of an inferior grade. Tomatoes 
 grow small. Potatoes can be grown well only 
 in the higher lands. The earth is hoed into 
 hills, and some wood or leaves is burned in 
 each hill before planting. This is to kill the 
 grubs and insects; and it is a sample of the 
 terrific fight the cultivators have to prevent 
 animal and insect life from destroying the 
 crops. With all their work the tubers produced 
 remind one too much of marbles in size and 
 shape. 
 
 The vegetables peculiar to the tropics thrive: 
 yams, artichoke, okra, brinjal (like egg-plant), 
 and many other unnamed-in-English garden 
 products that go well in a boiled dinner. Burma 
 needs a great genius of cookery to discover 
 and invent preparations. of native vegetables to 
 suit the taste of the foreigner. 
 
 Fruits are abundant, — yellow, red, and green 
 bananas; pineapples, cocoanuts, oranges, limes, 
 custard apples, guavas, papayas (pronounced 
 pah-pah-yas), jack fruits, mango-steens, dorians, 
 and so on deliciously. 
 
 On our first long walking trip in the Shan 
 Hills one hot season, we came suddenly upon 
 some bushes that hung over the road and were 
 weighted down with what looked at a distance 
 
174 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 like little yellow flowers. What was our sur- 
 prise on reaching them to see yellow rasp- 
 berries in such super-abundance that after we 
 had eaten all we could, and had filled what we 
 had to carry them in, we passed on with the 
 regret that we had done them an injustice. 
 Farther up, we found larger and more luscious 
 black ones to heighten our delight. We hadn’t 
 seen a raspberry for years. 
 
 There are five of the fruits in the list just 
 given that are very' common and well tasted in 
 the tropics, but which scarcely ever find their 
 way into colder climes, obviously because they 
 will not grow there, will not keep long enough to 
 be shipped in a ripe condition, and may not be 
 shipped green as bananas are. At the risk 
 of failing utterly, I shall endeavor to picture to 
 the reader’s mind some conception of these 
 five delectable fruit treasures of the tropics. 
 I am positively assured that I shall offend 
 some who already know the fruits, since my 
 descriptions, in their opinions, will be wrong 
 or entirely inadequate; for who can describe a 
 flavor? But for the sake of satisfying curiosity 
 I shall try. Those who know may skip this. 
 And those who don’t know may practise a 
 good drill in imagination. 
 
 The dorian — to begin with the one which 
 
Fruits of the Ground 
 
 175 
 
 the novice would rather not have included at 
 all — is a fruit with an atmosphere, so much so 
 that it preempts the air-space for fifty feet 
 around it with an odor that disgraces description. 
 A dorian can’t be hidden — except in a vacuum! 
 The first sniff of it a respectable nose gets 
 is suggestive of something in the advanced 
 stages of decay (to put it mildly) ; and yet it is 
 a perfectly good fruit that has a right to atten- 
 tion, and odoriferously demands the recognition 
 of that right by everyone with a sense of smell. 
 It grows on a tree, and is about the shape of a 
 lemon and the size of a large coconut. The 
 color is green-turning-yellow, and there are small 
 spines on its rind. Most of its bulk is made up 
 of pith; but embedded in this are a few large, 
 hard, brown seeds; and surrounding these seeds 
 there is a layer about a quarter of an inch 
 thick of soft, creamy substance which is the 
 hidden treasure of the dorian lover. Of course 
 the real proving is in the tasting, however sure 
 one may be that it is in the smelling; and the 
 taster usually holds his nose in the first trial 
 in order to brave it with any degree of olfactory 
 comfort. And it tastes — like cooked, rotten 
 onions; that is, if we subtract the peculiar 
 dorian flavor that goes with it, for which there 
 is no simile adequate. And — that is, again — 
 
iy6 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 it tastes like this at first. But right here is the 
 peculiar part of it. While the smell is dis- 
 gusting and the taste is almost as bad, yet 
 
 Coconuts at their Prime 
 
Fruits of the Ground 
 
 177 
 
 there is something about it that bids you come 
 again. And if you are sensible you will come 
 again. The first time you loathe it, the second 
 time you tolerate it, the third time you want it, 
 and the fourth time you can’t get long without 
 it. Sounds like a stimulant or a narcotic, 
 doesn’t it? Yet it is neither, and not in any 
 way harmful. It is amusing to see the old palate 
 at it going through the smack-lip operation, and 
 at the same time a new arrival almost nauseated 
 over the same innocent-looking fruit. It is easy 
 to start an argument at any time in any company 
 over the taste of dorian. 
 
 Dorian’s a fruit in such a loathing held, 
 
 To be detested needs but to be smelled ; 
 
 But, eaten oft, it ceases to annoy; 
 
 At first we gag, submit, and then enjoy. 
 
 When guavas are mentioned, think of pears; 
 for perhaps the guava comes nearer being like 
 a pear than like any other temperate zone fruit. 
 More rounded than a pear in shape, it has a 
 somewhat similar skin, and also resembles it in 
 size and in the nature of its seeds. The edible 
 part has the woody, grainy texture of a poor 
 pear, is rather juiceless and slightly sweet, but 
 not tart. 
 
 When we first disembarked at Bombay we 
 
1 7 8 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 were mistreated to a guava to eat as part of 
 our lunch. I would just as readily have relished 
 a raw potato. I remember that on first tasting 
 it I thought that perhaps at one time in the 
 remote past it had been a fairly desirable fruit; 
 but that at least my specimen had very much 
 deteriorated, as any fruit will do by poor culti- 
 vation; and that a mild dose of stomach bitters 
 had been injected into it. But such is a guava 
 — raw. However, it redeems itself. The proof 
 is in the preparation of it. Slice it, and let it 
 stand in sugar and water for a few hours, and 
 you have something equal to sliced raw peaches. 
 Cook it, and it makes a sauce to suit the taste 
 of the most fastidious. 
 
 We do not know why a custard-apple should 
 be called an apple, unless because it isn’t at all 
 like one. Or maybe it is for the same reason that 
 a pineapple is called an apple, whatever reason 
 that is. And right here we have the likeness. It 
 develops on the same lines as a pineapple. In 
 size and shape like a short, fat pine cone, it 
 grows from a central core at its base. Instead 
 of the spines and tough rind of the pineapple 
 it has roughened, soft, green lobes on its surface. 
 
 The whole inside is edible; and is eaten by 
 breaking the fruit open, and supping it out 
 with a spoon. Custard is the word for it; 
 
Fruits of the Ground 179 
 
 for it has that appearance and consistency, 
 with the seeds about the soft cone resembling 
 raisins, except that they are hard. The flavor 
 
 Climbing the Toddy Palm to Get the Juice from which is Made 
 the’Favorite Burmese Beverage 
 
180 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 is not pronounced; it is sweetish, but not tart. 
 Perhaps warmed vanilla ice cream would de- 
 scribe it. 
 
 Of papayas we will begin by stating that they 
 are like muskmelons — and then tell how they 
 are not like them. The papaya grows on a 
 tree, and not on a vine — a tree that, like the 
 famous mustard plant of the parable, becomes 
 great from a small seed in a short time. During 
 the second season from the planting of the seed, 
 under favorable conditions (one of which is 
 plenty of water), it reaches a height of ten 
 feet, with a trunk diameter of three inches, and 
 at this age will mature fruit. The wood is very 
 soft, and the plant does not do well after the 
 first few seasons. It belongs to the palm family, 
 and has a tuft of long leaf-fronds at the top, 
 with the fruit clustering about the stem just 
 beneath these leaves. 
 
 The papaya has the form of a lemon or a 
 pear, varies in size from that of a large potato 
 to that of a hubbard squash, and has a smooth, 
 green rind that turns slightly yellow when ripe. 
 On the inside the meat is arranged just like that 
 of a muskmelon, and is the same color and 
 degree of firmness. There is the same hollow 
 in the center, but the seeds are altogether 
 different- — half the size of a pea, black, and bitter 
 to the taste. 
 
Fruits of the Ground 181 
 
 The flavor of this refreshing fruit is very 
 like that of the cantaloupe, with a little bitter 
 added. This last seems to be against the like- 
 ableness of the fruit at first, but one grows not 
 to notice it. In fact, it has certain curative 
 properties for some maladies, and medicines are 
 compounded from it. Perhaps there is no more 
 healthful food-fruit known in the tropics than 
 papayas. The trees bear nearly the whole 
 year round, and the fruit is quite cheap in price. 
 It takes its place with the cool shower and the 
 breathing exercise as a whetting stimulant to 
 begin the day. 
 
 The queen of the tropical fruits is the mango. 
 There are many varieties — as many as of apples ; 
 but whether long and slim, or short and fat; 
 green or red or yellow-with-a-pink-cheek, fibrous 
 or pulpy, the mango takes the prize. The tree 
 is large and symmetrical, and is among the best 
 for shade and ornament. As a denizen of the 
 front lawn it calls for no apologies. 
 
 In size like an average potato, the shape 
 of the fruit is like a navy bean slightly side- 
 flattened. There is just one seed, embedded in 
 the center, and formed like an elongated lima 
 bean. But the most attractive part is between 
 the seed and the skin. Stringy with sweet- 
 potato stringiness, tart with lemon sour, sweet- 
 
l8z 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 ened to perfection, with the juiciness of the 
 Bartlett pear out-juieified, it tastes like — a man- 
 go ! Incomparable ! 
 
 It is eaten by cutting off slices, or by cutting 
 it in two, and resorting to the use of a spoon. 
 Finger bowls come handy. But, not to mention 
 table-manners, there is a more satisfactory way : 
 Put a dozen mangoes into a large basin, secure a 
 sharp knife, roll up your sleeves, and go at it — 
 stopping only when the juice drips off your 
 elbows. You will begin with a smile, end with a 
 laugh, and conclude that if there is any fruit 
 better than mangoes it is more mangoes. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE BEASTS THAT PERISH 
 
 Elephants 
 
 T HE impression prevails in many countries 
 that the chief use of the elephant is to 
 look big, to carry around the reputation 
 of being the bulkiest of land animals. But 
 it would indeed be a pity if such mountains of 
 bone and muscle could not be harnessed at 
 least to lean against the world’s work and help 
 to make it move. To hundreds of the tame 
 elephants in Burma, life is more than a circus 
 or a zoo. Their deliberate movements and 
 loosely hung skin often deceive one into think- 
 ing that they are awkward and clumsy; but 
 rather, they are capable of moving quickly, and 
 of performing work which requires skill, in- 
 telligence, and delicacy. In this “land of the 
 white elephant” there are still thousands of 
 these beasts (all black), the wild ones roaming 
 in herds in the jungles, browsing upon the foli- 
 age, and sporting at the favorite baths in the 
 rivers. Those in captivity are used principally 
 by the large lumber companies, gathering and 
 
Tame Elephants are very Skillful at Piling Timbers, Displaying almost Human Intelligence in 
 
 Placing Them in Perfect Order 
 
The Beasts that Perish 
 
 185 
 
 piling teakwood logs in the forests. The Karen 
 people own many of them, and are expert 
 in their handling. Their value ranges from 
 two thousand to four thousand dollars each. 
 
 A touching story is told of one of these huge 
 log rollers which recently died in Rangoon. 
 His keeper had been with him for many years; 
 and in his old age, though blind, the affectionate 
 beast was very devoted to the man. As his 
 last moments approached, the great fellow lay 
 upon the ground and swung his trunk around 
 as if reaching for something. The keeper knew 
 what he wanted and came nearer. The trunk 
 gently wrapped him round and drew him 
 closer in loving embrace, while tears gushed from 
 the eyes of both man and beast. In this atti- 
 tude the huge body breathed its last. Those 
 who saw it say this was a most affecting scene. 
 
 It is often necessary in lumbering operations 
 to move these docile animals long distances to 
 other parts of the country. They walk when 
 possible, of course, but bodies of water present 
 obstacles not easily overcome. Sometimes they 
 are transferred from the wharf to the deck 
 of the ship by means of a derrick. Elephants 
 can swim the rivers even though they do not 
 look as if they could, but they are likely to be 
 very independent and obstinate. At one time 
 
1 86 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 we saw a novel way of getting a herd across 
 the Salween River. 
 
 We had been doing some prospecting in the 
 
 
 If he but Lean Against the Collar That Log Will Come 
 
 
The Beasts that Perish 
 
 187 
 
 Karen country, and had returned the previous 
 evening to the head of stream navigation at 
 Shwegun. The Salween is one of the longest 
 rivers in the world, but it can not* be navigated 
 far because of numerous falls in its lower course. 
 At Shwegun the stream was about half a mile 
 wide at low water, the time we were there. 
 The sixty miles to the sea is traveled in a day 
 by little two-deck steam launches about seventy- 
 five feet in length. We were on board all night, 
 due to start downstream at 9 A. M. the next 
 day. But at daylight the boat started up- 
 stream. We were surprised, but soon saw the 
 reason. In a few minutes we arrived at a place 
 on the river where a high clay bank was topped 
 by forest trees ; and among them stood a herd of 
 twenty-one elephants, many of them towering 
 giants with long tusks. A crowd of Burmese 
 and Karens stood on the bank — early comers 
 to see the show. 
 
 At the water’s edge stood the first victim — 
 a huge fellow whose small eyes blinked dubiously 
 at the obvious prospect of a forced bath. He 
 was fastened by the forefeet to two firmly set 
 posts. A heavy rope was passed from the 
 chain holding his feet together to the stern 
 of the steamboat. A tin float, shaped like an 
 ordinary harbor buoy* but only about three 
 
i88 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 feet in diameter, was fastened on his back to 
 help keep him on the surface. His keeper took 
 the usual seat back of his ears. The signal was 
 given, and the boat started across the river, 
 soon pulling the rope taut. At this critical 
 moment the fastenings were loosed from the 
 posts, the driver gave a last prod before making 
 a wild leap for the bank, and Mr. Elephant was 
 drawn down the slippery incline into the water. 
 He trumpeted loudly with fear, and fought 
 desperately to hold back and regain the bank; 
 but steam power triumphed, and he was towed 
 with ever increasing swiftness into deep water. 
 When beyond his depth, he disappeared en- 
 tirely, only the float telling his whereabouts; 
 and even it was dragged under at times. 
 Then suddenly his trunk appeared with a snort, 
 and, waving about wildly, quickly took on a 
 snakelike curve and seemed to point an accus- 
 ing finger at us as we stood at the stern of the 
 steamer. Then the huge bod}^ rose and thrashed 
 the water into foam as it rolled from side to 
 side and over, struggling to get free. Again 
 it disappeared as if to seek the river bed for a 
 foothold, only to reappear and rest content to be 
 dragged rapidly along near the surface, with the 
 water pouring over the gigantic head as it 
 pours over a smooth rock in a rapid river. 
 
The Beasts that Perish i8q 
 
 Soon the opposite bank was reached, which was 
 sandy and shallow far out. As the launch could 
 not approach very near, the elephant was left 
 for a minute floundering in about fifteen feet 
 of water. Meanwhile a Burmese racing boat 
 full of men had paddled at top speed with the 
 driver from the other bank. Now they ap- 
 proached the big fellow cautiously, and at a 
 favorable moment the driver adroitly jumped 
 from the prow of the canoe onto the elephant’s 
 head. Hastily setting free the float, he urged 
 the beast toward the bank with peculiar twiteh- 
 ings of his knees back of the big ears; while 
 this was being done, the rope was carried to 
 the bank, and a number of men exerted their 
 puny strength to tow him in. And he seemed 
 to have no power nor inclination to resist. 
 
 The whole herd of twenty-one was taken over 
 in the same manner. This way of doing it may 
 seem cruel, and some men engaged in the 
 business think it is. But the animals looked 
 none the worse for it, and some seemed actually 
 to enjoy it. We could understand how they 
 might if their forefeet had been free. 
 
 One of them, which was so unfortunate as not 
 to have a float at his back, went entirely under 
 as soon as he reached deep water, and stayed 
 there till the other side was nearly gained. 
 
iQO In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 We could tell by the length and angle of the rope 
 that he must have been about twenty-five feet 
 down. As time passed, and he did not come up 
 for air, and seemed to hang as a dead weight, 
 the owners became alarmed, and there was 
 
 This is the Way Elephants are Loaded into Ships 
 
 much shouting and ado; but beyond an extra 
 powerful spout when his trunk appeared, he 
 acted the same as did the others. 
 
 Another gigantic tusker was determined after 
 the first outrage not to submit tamely to such 
 indignities. When his driver gained his back 
 and tried to prod and urge him to land, he 
 
The Beasts that Perish igi 
 
 wouldn’t go. Instead, he headed for the middle 
 of the river. All the shouting and pulling by 
 the men on the shore hadn’t the least effect. 
 He reached the current and swam rapidly down- 
 stream. The driver was game and held his seat, 
 but he might as well have been a fly. The 
 launch gave chase, when there was no other 
 way, and after an exciting few minutes the 
 runaway was rounded up half a mile down. 
 He was so tired when he finally landed that he 
 could scarcely walk. 
 
 Our boat was so late in getting down the river 
 that we missed the train for Rangoon, but 
 the sight was worth the sacrifice. 
 
 Crows 
 
 Ask any traveler who has been in India or 
 Burma what sound is the most common and 
 universal, and he will tell you the caw of a 
 crow. With all their millions of people, these 
 lands actually seem to have more crows than 
 human beings. They flock like sparrows in 
 both town and country, and flap themselves into 
 every view. 
 
 The crows of the East are in size about half- 
 way between the large crow of America and the 
 blackbird. They are prolific and long-lived; 
 and, being ever alert and quick of movement, 
 
IQ2 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 they are not easily destroyed. It is said that a 
 few years ago they became so numerous in some 
 places as to be an extreme nuisance; so the 
 government offered a small bounty for their 
 heads. Then the natives began raising them in 
 captivity in such large numbers that it was a 
 paying industry; so this method of extermina- 
 tion had to be abandoned. 
 
 But the crows are one of the greatest blessings 
 of the country. They are its chief scavengers, 
 and are worth more than a thousand doctors 
 and sanitary inspectors. There is nothing that 
 forms a breeding place for germs that crows will 
 scorn as food. In the land of filth producers 
 the crows are filth destroyers. There is no 
 doubt that should these blackwings be cut off, 
 epidemics would gather a much larger toll of 
 human life than they do at present. It is 
 impossible to estimate their true value as 
 scavengers. Because of this, and also for reli- 
 gious reasons, attempts are seldom made to 
 kill them. 
 
 In the outlying districts they may be seen 
 by the hundreds, tumbling over one another in 
 the furrows as they follow the plow to eat 
 the exposed grubs. They ride on the backs 
 of the patient and slow-moving bullocks and 
 buffaloes, deftly keeping out of the way of the 
 
The Beasts that Perish 
 
 193 
 
 swishing tails, and snapping up the insects that 
 swarm about the beasts. They form a mutual 
 benefit society with a cow; and as bossy lies 
 quietly in the shade, chewing her cud, they 
 perch on her nose or ears and pick at the insects 
 and vermin, only having to look sharp when the 
 bovine resents a too-familiar intrusion on her 
 nasal or auditory property rights. 
 
 As soon as a train stops at a station, the 
 crows alight with impunity on the cars, and 
 make common cause with their fellow scaven- 
 gers, the pariah dogs, in seeing which can be 
 first to grab the discarded food thrown from 
 the windows. Many a battle royal is fought 
 between these two for the prize. The dogs 
 have the strength but the crows have the wings 
 and the wits. When the pariah gets there 
 first, often the crows will unite in a body to 
 attack him. And what strategy! Some ap- 
 proach from behind and persistently nag till he 
 makes a dash to drive them off. Then, like a 
 flash, those in front pounce on the morsel and 
 are away with it. 
 
 For all the good they do, it is difficult to 
 have patience with them about the house. Ever 
 cawing and ever watchful, they perch at the 
 edge of the safety zone about the back veranda. 
 They are thieves of the bold bandit variety. A 
 7 
 
194 - 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 caw, a swoop, a grab, and a swift retreat are the 
 order and method of their predatory raids. 
 Let the housewife or the servant relax vigilance, 
 and through the window comes Mr. Crow, and 
 with a low swish of wings is onto the dining 
 table. There is a rattle and a bang as a dish 
 falls, and a rush to the rescue reveals broken 
 glass, an article of food . gone, or the butter 
 suddenly showing its age by crow’s-feet lines. 
 
 Any small article that shines looks edible 
 to the crow. So it often happens that valuable 
 pieces of jewelry, scissors, and thimbles dis- 
 appear from the table; and the servant gets the 
 blame. There is no time for the robbers to 
 investigate closely before the raid, and so, 
 since the trinket is indigestible, it is treated 
 as the proverbial pearls are treated by the 
 proverbial swine, and the owner never sees it 
 again. One invalid lady, who was confined to 
 her bed, was horrified at being compelled to lie 
 still while a crow deliberately carried off her 
 false teeth from the table in the room. 
 
 One day we were riding in a cart that toiled 
 slowly through the deep sands of the Irrawaddy 
 River bottom, when we came across a number 
 of huge vultures which were drying their feathers 
 in the hot sun after a dip in the river. They 
 stood on the sands and spread their wings 
 
The Beasts that Perish 
 
 195 
 
 wide, fully ten feet from tip to tip. A number 
 of crows hovered about to catch the insects that 
 swarm around these ugly carrion eaters. For 
 greater convenience, the crows stood on the 
 
 Mealtime for the Vultures 
 
 outstretched wings of the vultures. The added 
 weight was disconcerting, to say the least, 
 and the big birds began to take the wild and 
 awkward leaps that are characteristic of these 
 clumsy creatures when on the earth. To see 
 the crows bobbing back and forth trying to 
 keep their balance on the wings, and the strenu- 
 ous but vain efforts of the vultures to dislodge 
 them, was indeed mirth-provoking; and we 
 
iq6 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 greatly enjoyed viewing the maneuvers when 
 scavenger plagues scavenger. 
 
 Like all common and unavoidable annoy- 
 ances, the crow soon ceases to attract notice, 
 and we almost forget its presence. But should 
 I go to the ends of the earth and never return 
 to Burma, the raucous eaw of a crow would 
 ever remind me of Burma’s blessing and bother 
 of the genus Corvus. 
 
 Dogs 
 
 To see the dogs of the East is to more easily 
 understand the force of the expression, “With- 
 out are dogs,” which occurs in the Biblical 
 description of the new earth. Whether this 
 prophecy is to be taken literally or figuratively, 
 such dogs, or any being that such dogs would 
 symbolize, would make heaven very unheavenly. 
 To some minds the word suggests a lovable 
 pet and companion; to others a servant and a 
 protector; but in the East a dog stands for all 
 that is obnoxious in animal life, a scavenger 
 of scavengers. 
 
 Then is he worth mentioning? No; except 
 that, whether worthy or not, he forces himself 
 on the attention of human beings in spite of 
 every effort to scorn his existence. To deal 
 with Burma is to deal with dogs. And, besides, 
 
The Beasts that Perish iQy 
 
 who will say that a scavenger is beneath notice? 
 
 Every village has its quota of dogs; and the 
 quota seems to be at the ratio of two dogs to 
 each person. The attitude of the people fosters 
 an increasing number of them. For religious 
 reasons the owners will not kill them. If a 
 dog is maimed or incurably sick it drags itself 
 around till death. Disease attacks them, and 
 scores of mangy, hairless, skin-and-bone canines 
 will prowl and howl about a town and hunt 
 for carrion to eke out their miserable lives. 
 They fight fiercely, and run in packs at night, 
 waking the nervous with their yelps. It is a 
 custom of foreigners to carry a cane to keep 
 them at a distance. But very rarely do they 
 molest people, except when they go mad. It is 
 best always to steer clear of them, especially 
 in hot weather. One of our best and brightest 
 Christian school boys was bitten by a mad 
 dog while on his way to school one day, and 
 though he took the cure provided by the govern- 
 ment, he died of hydrophobia a few months later. 
 But as far as we observed, there are no more 
 dogs go mad in Burma, in proportion to their 
 numbers, than in America, or in any other 
 much more dogless country. 
 
 But, east as west, “Every dog has his day”; 
 and with many of them in India and Burma 
 
198 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 that day is the annual one when a coolie from 
 the “conservancy department” of the local 
 government goes about and throws a piece of 
 poisoned meat to every cadaverous canine that 
 he meets. The next day there is a big dog 
 funeral. 
 
 Pests and Pets 
 
 When we started for the mission field, our 
 friends presented us with a small, square organ 
 for use in our work. The gift was appreciated; 
 and because we were ignorant we took it along. 
 To begin with, it came to grief at the landing. 
 Four coolies at Bombay were carrying it on 
 their heads, one under each corner, and when 
 they were ready to set it down they calmly 
 stepped out from under it, all together, and let 
 it drop. It was broken badly, but the music- 
 making parts were intact, and it was soon fixed. 
 However, it was doomed to a worse fate. It 
 became an ideal nesting place for household 
 pests. Lizards and mice occupied the lower 
 stories, and huge roaches found homey living 
 stalls just over the reeds. In vain did we 
 take it apart and clean out the broods. There 
 was no way to make it vermin-tight; and 
 since, to add to our burden, the glued parts 
 came loose in the wet season, it had to be sold 
 
The Beasts that Perish 
 
 199 
 
 for little or nothing. Incidentally we learned 
 that it pays to buy musical instruments and 
 furniture made to stand the tropics; and par- 
 ticularly we were made aware that insect and 
 animal life in Burma fairly swarms. 
 
 The reader may question the housekeeping 
 ability of anyone who would allow roaches, 
 mice, and lizards in the house at all. But 
 may we beg a hearing of our case? Sentiment 
 and sanitation fought for the mastery in our 
 minds for a long time. We kept the organ in 
 the interests of sentiment, and passed it on 
 in the interests of sanitation. And, moreover, 
 with the very numbers and persistency of the 
 vermin and the very openness of the houses, let 
 it be said that it is not a disgrace to find these 
 things inside, nor is it much of a disgrace to 
 continue to find them ; but it is a disgrace to be 
 content to live with them on equal terms and 
 to give up the fight. It is a fight, but not so 
 bad as it sounds. It is simply a matter of taking 
 proper precautions — taking them, and making 
 them habits. From some insects and animals 
 one can’t rid himself entirely, though they can 
 be kept at a distance. And in the case of 
 others it pays to transform pests into pets. 
 
 Take the lizards, for instance. Reptiles of 
 any sort make my flesh creep. Snakes I hate 
 
200 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 as I do the devil, and especially after I one 
 day rescued a half -swallowed toad from one 
 of the slimy rascals. And lizards are classed with 
 snakes. But there are lizards and lizards. In 
 Burma most of them get short shift, even with 
 the natives, who scruple at taking life. One 
 variety is called the praying lizard, because 
 it is nearly always moving its head up and 
 down as if bowing to someone. There is a 
 tradition among the Mohammedans that when 
 one of the heroes of their early history was 
 fleeing from his enemies and had hid in a well, 
 one of these lizards was found near-by pointing 
 out the hiding place with his nodding head. 
 And the Buddhists tell a story that one day 
 when the Burmese king was walking in his 
 garden he saw one of these reptiles bowing 
 to him, as he thought. He was so well pleased 
 at its good manners that he had all the praying 
 lizards caught that could be found in the palace 
 grounds and gold bands fastened about their 
 necks. But these metal collars kept them from 
 moving their heads as before. So he became 
 angry at their lack of thankfulness, and ordered 
 them all killed. Therefore the Mohammedans 
 and the Buddhists consider it a real work of 
 merit to kill these harmless creatures. 
 
 Then there is the chameleon-like lizard that 
 
The Beasts that Perish 
 
 201 
 
 changes its color to suit its surroundings; and 
 the tuk-too, a medium-sized fellow who in- 
 habits the roofs and eaves of houses and keeps 
 out of sight — but not out of hearing. “ Oft in the 
 stilly night” he will suddenly wake the sleepers 
 with his raucous “tuk-too, tuk-too” in meas- 
 ured beat, and after several repetitions will 
 close the performance with a gutteral growl. 
 Some think he says “Doctor,” but he suggests 
 the undertaker. 
 
 Best of all this tribe are the little five-inch 
 lizards that come out on the walls and ceil- 
 ings of the house at night and catch insects 
 over the light. When, at the beginning of the 
 rains, hundreds of “bugs” of every description 
 pester the student at his evening lamp, he 
 gladly welcomes these little reptiles who have a 
 happy hankering for things with wings. With 
 pleasure he sees the sides of the little fellows 
 get fat on the gorging. They are clean, always 
 keep out of the way, and are welcomed by the 
 good housekeeper for the service they render. 
 Occasionally one will stub his toe on the ceiling 
 and light on the floor with a spat, but in a jiffy 
 he is up the wall again. 
 
 There was a tiny individual of this species 
 who used to make nightly visits down the 
 wall to my desk and catch insects. His skin 
 
202 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 and flesh were so translucent that I could almost 
 see through him, and could easily make out the 
 black shade of the dinner in his stomach. Down 
 the wall-matting with noiseless rushes and 
 motionless pauses he would come, creeping up 
 on unwarj 7 insects like a cat. When close 
 enough he would crouch for a moment, and 
 nothing but the flash of his beady eyes showed 
 life; then his head would shoot forward and 
 his tongue dart out so quickly that my eye 
 could scarcely catch the movement. But he 
 never missed. The insect was inside. Then he 
 would stand and lick his chops, and look at me 
 with great satisfaction. One night he stalked the 
 wrong quarry and got a mouthful of bitter bug. 
 The expression on his elongated countenance 
 was almost human as he slowly spit the thing 
 out, just like a person making a wry face over 
 a dose of quinine. 
 
 On the least movement of mine he would 
 scurry away in alarm, although he would run 
 onto my prone hand for his prey. There is 
 no catching these little reptiles. One day an 
 unfortunate member of our brood had his tail 
 crushed off by the closing of a table drawer. 
 The severed organ dropped to the floor and 
 wiggled for a long time, but master lizard 
 managed to get the other three-fourths of him- 
 
The Beasts that Perish 
 
 203 
 
 self away in good shape. He appeared as usual 
 in the evening hunt after that, and seemed to 
 have no need of a hospital. And every night 
 he had a little more tail, till in a few weeks his 
 brand-new caudle appendage was fully de- 
 veloped. 
 
 Likewise also there are the ants. They 
 deserve a long story by themselves ; but we must 
 give them attention according to their size. 
 Little ants, big ants, red, black, and white; 
 fighting ants, biting ants, army ants galore. 
 Houses must be built with the ants in mind. 
 Walls are made single so that every crevice 
 can be reached. There are no built-in closets 
 and cupboards. All furniture stands out from 
 the wall, and is set on legs, so that there is a 
 clear view all around it. Any piece of furniture 
 which contains food, such as a cupboard or 
 table, has its feet set in little earthen saucers, 
 and these are kept full of water. If every 
 possibility of their getting at food is removed, 
 the ants do not bother much. But let a little 
 scout find no water in one of the saucers some 
 night, and the next morning the butter will be 
 well peppered with his comrades, and perhaps 
 the whole inside of a loaf of bread be eaten out. 
 
 Much has been said about white ants; which 
 by the way are not ants at all, but properly 
 
204 /» the Land of Pagodas 
 
 bear the name termites. They have a light- 
 colored body and resemble ants. They build 
 huge nests below or above ground, and are very 
 destructive. They never work in the light, 
 but always build a covered run-way wherever 
 they commit their depredations; thus they can 
 be traced easily and obstructed. Nearly all 
 kinds of wood, leather, cloth, and such materials, 
 are tasty morsels to the white ant. A board 
 left on the ground at night will sometimes be 
 completely covered by their earthen work-shop 
 the next morning. At one time during the 
 initial stages of our work we neglected to watch, 
 and paid the penalty by having the bottoms of 
 a trunk and a suit-ease badly eaten. At another 
 lax period a number of books had their covers 
 nearly all devoured. 
 
 Ordinarily the white ants can be kept out 
 by thick cement floors, and an occasional look 
 round to see that they are not starting any- 
 thing up the outside walls. When we built our 
 house I was sure no sensible white ant would 
 attempt four inches of concrete and one inch of 
 solid cement. But they did, and actually came 
 up through where we could see no sign of a 
 crack or a flaw. One morning I came down- 
 stairs to find, right in the middle of the front- 
 room floor, what looked like a little clay model 
 
In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 205 
 
 of a tree. The tiny creatures had bored up 
 through the cement and, finding nothing to 
 eat, had constructed a hollow run-way right up 
 into the air, with branches shooting off in 
 different directions as if trying to feel something 
 edible. Of course we demolished this beginning 
 of a mud forest, and poured crude oil down the 
 hole, which settled them in that place for a 
 long time to come. V arious insecticides will kill 
 them; but they are innumerable, resourceful, 
 and persistent. 
 
 The stranger to the country concludes from 
 all this that it must be a constant vexation of 
 spirit— and very little vanity— to keep house in 
 Burma. But it isn’t, when one gets used to it. 
 In building it is no more difficult and expensive 
 to provide against vermin and pests in Burma 
 than it is to provide against extreme cold in 
 more frigid latitudes. The people are not 
 bothered nearly so much with flies; for, thanks 
 to nature’s scavenger system and the English 
 government’s excellent sanitary precautions in 
 the towns, there are few flies in the country. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE HEAT AND THE HILLS 
 
 I T IS the month of April. In northern climes 
 nature is just beginning to twitch the corners 
 of her mouth for summer’s smile; in south 
 latitudes a winter frown gathers on her brow; 
 in Burma the face of the earth tans and blisters 
 under a zenith sun. Heat is ascending, and you 
 can’t get off the top. Heat is descending ,and 
 you can’t get out from under. Fume and fret 
 about it, and you add a third source of warmth. 
 Take it coolly and reflect sunshine — literally 
 and figuratively. The world moves fastest at 
 the equator, but its inhabitants who live there 
 must move the most slowly. 
 
 Stand here a moment and look down the road. 
 The wavy atmosphere ascends as from a hot 
 stove. Feel the glare of the bare, baked earth 
 in aching eyes and throbbing forehead. Sense 
 the withering, scorching breeze that fairly 
 puffs your face. Your spine carries a dizzy, 
 sickening sensation to your head. Let me 
 draw you back into the shade of the house, 
 
 206 
 
The Heat and the Hills 
 
 2oy 
 
 450 Pagodas in one Inclosure, Viewed from Mandalay Hill 
 
 even though its 102° seems to give no relief; 
 and put on these dark spectacles to rest your 
 eyes. 
 
2o8 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 But 102° in the shadow is not extremely hot. 
 Why such care? On an August baking day 
 or a July haying day at home you have felt as 
 hot as you do now. But mark this: it is not so 
 much the tropic heat that injures as it is the 
 tropic rays. Scientists have found that sun 
 rays have other qualities than light and heat. 
 The actinic rays, those capable of producing 
 chemical changes, are strong in the direct rays 
 of the torrid belt. They pierce to the brain 
 and effect injurious and lasting results, usually 
 a weakening of nerve power. 
 
 It is a peculiar fact that, while in India and 
 Burma persons from colder climates wear thick 
 pith helmets, called topees , and often carry a 
 sunshade besides, yet the natives of temperate 
 zones who reside in other parts of the tropics, 
 especially in the West, find a thin straw hat 
 a sufficient protection. It has been suggested 
 that the wearing of a topee is only an unneces- 
 sary habit on the part of foreign residents in 
 India. However that may be, there is grave 
 danger in going out in the noonday sun without 
 one, as many have learned to their unfitting 
 for labor. One may “get the sun” without 
 feeling very hot; and some persons are more 
 susceptible to its influence than others. From 
 casual observation it would seem that light- 
 
The Heat and the Hills 
 
 209 
 
 complexioned individuals fare worse in this 
 respect than the darker ones. 
 
 From June to October the climate is warm 
 and wet; from November to February it is 
 cool and dry; from March to May it is hot 
 and dry. But during the whole annual round 
 the midday heat is uncomfortable. Aside from 
 the rays before mentioned, the foreigner suffers 
 from the almost unchanging high temperature. 
 Day by day the vital fluid becomes more thin 
 and sluggish, and there is a “washed-out” 
 feeling which is very depressing. Frequent fur- 
 loughs home are impossible. The heights pro- 
 vide the only respite. Every yard upward is 
 a mile northward. “As the shadow of a great 
 rock in a weary land,” so is the air of the hills 
 in the torrid heat. We are not oblivious to 
 the lesson conveyed, and our desire for the 
 “ heavenly hills ” becomes greater at the thought. 
 
 I had spent two hot seasons in the pit, and 
 was off for the hills at last. A wakeful night 
 ride on a dusty, stuffy train landed me at the 
 nearest railway station, thirty miles from a 
 chosen retreat. The others had gone before, 
 and I was to make the trip alone on a bicycle. 
 A friend had warned of dacoits (robbers), but, too 
 eager to wait till day, when the half-moon 
 rose for my beacon at three o’clock, my mount 
 
210 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 glided out over the white reaches of road that 
 wound around among the rice-fields and through 
 the jungle. The height of the forest and the 
 density of underbrush cast Cimmerian shadows 
 over the way; but the weird feeling attendant 
 therewith was relieved by the twinkling of 
 thousands of fireflies flitting beneath the trees 
 on either side. 
 
 After a ride of several miles all signs of human 
 presence and habitation were passed. Quietness 
 was resting heavily, when suddenly an owl 
 smote the stillness with a blood-freezing screech, 
 and scurried away ahead, awakening the echoes 
 into a score of answering cries. Other night- 
 birds made protest to the dark apparition that 
 so stealthily invaded their quiet domain, as it 
 sped swiftly over the white roadway, and was 
 gone. But for all that the rider shuddered at 
 feelings uncanny, there was something exhila- 
 rating about coming close to the haunts of 
 these habitants of the forest who are in league 
 with the night. 
 
 At a near approach to the foot of the hills, 
 just beyond a sharp turn in the road, several 
 huge black objects loomed up in the pale moon- 
 light. The road was completely obstructed, and I 
 alighted with alacrity, moving forward cau- 
 tiously to investigate. I was taken aback at 
 
The Heat and the Hills 
 
 21 1 
 
 finding them elephants, tame of course, but 
 the largest I have ever seen, and quite repellent. 
 They were quietly browsing on the bushes 
 at the roadside, and at first seemed unattended; 
 but soon I perceived a keeper on the back of 
 each one, almost invisible as they slept or 
 showed the faint glow of the crude cigars they 
 smoked. Slipping past the gigantic bodies, I 
 felt distinct relief at leaving them behind. 
 
 As the east showed faint tracings of ap- 
 proaching day, the ascent was begun. It was 
 necessary to push my wheel for sixteen miles 
 up the winding road as I walked. Up, up, up, 
 mile after mile, around and back, twisting, 
 curving, but always ascending — dragging foot- 
 steps enlivened only by the near prospect of 
 cooling breezes and the more distant one of 
 coasting down these steeps on my return. 
 Gradually rising above the heat and dust and 
 glare, the air ever becoming perceptibly more 
 refreshing, I came to autumn in the spring. 
 For was it not April? and here were the dry 
 leaves crackling under my feet and falling in 
 showers at every gust. Red and brown and 
 yellow they were, and all the tints — but you 
 know. There was that indescribable influence 
 in the air that I had thought only October 
 knew, — the quiet peace of summer falling asleep, 
 
212 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 the glorious “Indian summer” of a more 
 familiar land. 
 
 The jungle giants, with the fitful help of the 
 passing breeze, were fast laying aside their 
 erstwhile garments, finding best wardrobes in 
 sheltered nooks among the rocks. But strange 
 for me to see and relate, they still maintained 
 a liberal show of green, seeming to have taught 
 the people of this land their custom of doffing 
 the old and donning the new in the same action. 
 The denser foliage was gone, however, and many 
 former retreats of parrot and monkey were 
 exposed, only forming better hiding-places for 
 the ground-folk, bright-colored pheasants and 
 feather-tailed squirrels. Trees of a hundred 
 years stretched up tiptoe from the high cliffs 
 or crouched low in the nether valleys. Springs 
 of clear water dripped from the rocky steeps and 
 gurgled under the well-kept culverts. Over all, 
 the morning sun broke through the autumn 
 haze, like the royal chariot appearing through 
 the smoke of battle, bringing courage and cheer 
 to the sentinels of the night. 
 
 I stood entranced, thrilled, dumb. Burma 
 had redeemed itself. From the hills had come 
 my help. 
 
 There was inspiration in it. And being 
 given to rhymes, as I sat on a convenient stone 
 
The Heat and the Hills 
 
 213 
 
 by the roadside, I took out my little noteboc k 
 
 and pencil and wrote: 
 
 When the atmosphere is fiery in the oven of 
 Rangoon, 
 
 And the oven door is closed upon the sultriness 
 of noon; 
 
 When the heat arises wavingly and sunshine 
 falls in sheets; 
 
 And the dust is light and choky midst the 
 friction of the streets, 
 
 Turn away from perspiration and a hundred 
 season ills, 
 
 To the high and healthy Thandaung, viewful 
 Thandaung of the hills. 
 
 When the eye-balls burn like fire in the glare of 
 Mandalay ; 
 
 Earth and firmament conspire to disgrace the 
 month of May; 
 
 When the fever-touch of prickly heat makes 
 clothes rub like a file, 
 
 And you just pretend to sleep and disremember 
 how to smile; 
 
 Flee away from all the broiling and the worry- 
 thought that kills, 
 
 And invest a month in Thandaung, cooling 
 Thandaung of the hills. 
 
214 /« tl ie Land of Pagodas 
 
 When the lake is burnished silver by desirable 
 Meiktila, 
 
 And there’s no relief from parching even in a 
 lakeside villa; 
 
 When a dull, indifferent appetite makes brows- 
 ing food a duty, 
 
 And the misery' of living far eclipses all the 
 beauty ; 
 
 Then away to sylvan valleys where the cloud - 
 mist sweet distills 
 
 O’er the wooded peaks of Thandaung, restful 
 Thandaung of the hills. 
 
 Denizens of dust, remember, going up is going 
 north ; 
 
 ’Tis the season when the hilltops pour their 
 autumn beauties forth. 
 
 Quit the petty 7 earth annoyances, the city’s 
 vain conceits; 
 
 Revel to your heart’s content in Burma’s sky 
 retreats. 
 
 Flout the doctor’s bitter medicines and sugar- 
 coated pills; 
 
 Fly away above the marshes; visit Thandaung 
 of the hills. 
 
 The experience of over a hundred years of 
 
 Protestant missions in southern Asia has taught 
 
The Heat and the Hills 
 
 215 
 
 mission boards that the missionary must have a 
 month or six weeks in the hills every year 
 during the hot season in order to continue in 
 
 A Rest Home in the Shan Hills for the Burma Missionaries 
 
 the field and maintain health. Also that he 
 should spend a year in the homeland after long 
 periods of work to keep that freshness and 
 vigor that is so necessary to the life-time laborer 
 in depressing heathen lands. - And this for 
 ordinary circumstances and average health. 
 Frail bodies often must have longer furloughs 
 and more frequent changes, or not continue 
 in the work at all. If the missionary does not 
 
2l6 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 occasionally break the strain of the work, the 
 strain of the work will break him. It is economy 
 in the long run to conserve health even at what 
 seems excessive costs. 
 
 The foreigner from temperate zones soon 
 learns to appreciate the hill stations of tropical 
 countries. He longs for a permanent rest-home 
 in high altitudes, to which he can fly as to a 
 refuge when the humid heat is insufferable 
 in the plains. 
 
 While our early missionaries frequented Than- 
 daung and rented quarters; in later years 
 Kalaw, a more desirable location in the Shan 
 Hills east of Meiktila, was chosen as our perma- 
 nent hill home. And there, in a climate that 
 rivals the central southern United States, com- 
 modious bungalows have been built. The 
 workers resort to them in groups of three or 
 four families at a time during the months of 
 March, April, and May. When the rains begin 
 in June all are ready to descend to the plains 
 again and plunge anew into the work with 
 fresh zeal. A native is hired to take care of 
 the houses and grounds the year round for a 
 small wage. They are provided with beds, 
 tables, chairs, and some dishes, while the 
 occupants bring with them all the necessary 
 personal effects that are to make comfortable 
 their camp-meeting-like outing. 
 
The Heat and the Hills 
 
 217 
 
 Kalaw hides in a lovely little valley in the 
 pine country, where the crisp, clean pine needles 
 carpet the ground inches thick. Huge clumps 
 of bamboos cluster along the streams ; and 
 harmless forest fires glow in the night. It is 
 the haunt of monkeys and deer; the place of 
 raspberries wild and strawberries tame, of pine- 
 apples and figs, of rare quality potatoes, puffed 
 rice, and peanut candy; in short, while not 
 possessing all that is ideal, it is a change — a 
 change of temperature, of air, of food, of sur- 
 roundings, of view, of noises and smells; and a 
 change is rest to those who are sick of sameness 
 and routine. 
 
 But the hill vacation is not spent in idleness. 
 There are neglected letters to write, put-off 
 reading and study to do, long tramps in the 
 open, and vigorous play. And too, a missionary 
 could not come into contact with the com- 
 paratively few hill folk without doing some- 
 thing to help them just a little. So sundry 
 friendly overtures are made toward the simple 
 natives who are met on jungle trails or in the 
 little markets. It is significant that the nearer 
 these primitive people are to “nature” the 
 farther they are from God. The most isolated are 
 generally the most base, yet they are more simple- 
 hearted and easily reached by gospel truth. 
 
2l8 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 One day we met a happy exception to this 
 baseness, if appearances count. We were going 
 for a little 
 tramp up a 
 valley among 
 the hills and 
 met an old 
 cult iva tor 
 driving h i s 
 skinny cows 
 and carrying 
 a few sticks 
 home for the 
 evening fire. 
 
 He was bent 
 far over upon 
 a cane, and 
 everything 
 he wore was 
 of one color, 
 that of mud. 
 
 As we passed 
 he raised his 
 head, and we 
 were shocked 
 — agreeably 
 shocked. In- 
 stead of the usual black, toothless cavern that 
 
 A Padaung Woman, One Type of the Hill People. 
 Long Necks are the Style, and She Adds Rings 
 to Hers Till it Conforms to the Latest 
 
The Heat and the Hills 21Q 
 
 serves as a mouth in the faces of so many of 
 those aged men, or the sin- wrinkled counte- 
 nance of a man grown old in debasing habits, 
 we saw a face that fairly beamed goodness and 
 good-nature. It was very old and seamed, 
 and there was not a tooth in his head ; but every 
 one of those crow-toes about his eyes told a 
 story that I should love to have repeated in 
 detail. He accorded us a very benediction of a 
 smile, mumbled that we had better not go very 
 far as night was coming on, and hobbled on his 
 way. I hope the picture of that old man’s 
 face will remain with me forever, and I believe 
 it will. 
 
 No doubt the far-scattered hill-tribes of 
 Burma would get much less attention from 
 Christianizing, civilizing influences if the heat 
 of the lowlands did not drive the missionaries to 
 the high retreats every year. Contact begets 
 interest, and interest begets love. And, too, 
 as some of the most pleasant memories of the 
 Christian worker in torrid climates are con- 
 nected with his hill vacations, we are led after 
 all to exclaim, “Blessed be heat!” No heat, 
 no hills. And the hills are a world of comfort. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PLAY TIME 
 
 I T MAY seem strange to begin a chapter 
 bearing such a title by describing a funeral; 
 but the reader will conclude that it ap- 
 propriately belongs here. It would seem from 
 observation that all non-Christian peoples make 
 the ceremonies attendant on a death an occasion 
 for having a gay time. 
 
 “Why doesn’t the procession proceed?” I 
 questioned, on joining a group of Burmese friends 
 who stood waiting for a delayed funeral train. 
 
 “They are waiting for the lemonade cart to 
 come up. ” was the answer. I was surprised with 
 that surprise which comes from being many 
 times surprised. A funeral waiting for the 
 lemonade! Curiosity bade me attend that 
 funeral. 
 
 And while we are waiting allow me to digress 
 a little. In Rangoon there are native under- 
 takers who get their business from the Chris- 
 tian — but not altogether Westernized— native 
 population. One such undertaker has a hearse 
 
 220 
 
Play Time 
 
 221 
 
 which is an imitation of the most imposing 
 American pattern — ssuggestive ornaments above, 
 glass sides, white draperies inside, a low platform 
 for the coffin, high front seat, high-stepping 
 team, and all. Coolies from the street, not 
 friends of the deceased, are mustered as pall- 
 bearers, and these are provided by the funeral 
 director. These bearers run alongside the 
 hearse as the corpse is being conveyed to the 
 cemetry. 
 
 One day we met this grand equipage coming 
 back from the graveyard after its usual trip. 
 As it swept past, our Western eyes were shocked 
 by a sight that for the moment took our breath. 
 The four pall-bearers were sitting one behind 
 the other inside the hearse where the coffin 
 had recently rested, and peering out from among 
 the curtains. Their dusky faces and roving 
 eyes, together with the close position into which 
 they were compelled to squeeze, gave on an 
 instant the impression that the dead had come 
 to life and in surprised protest was seeking a 
 way out of his confinement. To us, who never 
 before had even imagined such a situation, the 
 effect was extremely weird and uncanny. How- 
 ever, these were not Burmans. The incident is a 
 little touch of India, and illustrates that in the 
 East one may expect to see strange combi- 
 nations. 
 
222 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Though the Buddhist religion is very pure 
 in principle when compared with other religions 
 of India and Burma, yet there are few Buddhists 
 today who keep strictly the precepts of Gauta- 
 ma. Devil-worship is mingled with their beliefs, 
 and many superstitious practises are followed. 
 For many of the rites performed by the devotees 
 of the great Indian prince, few worshipers can 
 give the reason or origin. This is very true of 
 the customs connected with funeral ceremonies. 
 My narration will be of what is done at a 
 funeral rather than of any explanation of its 
 significance. If any reasons are suggested, let 
 it be understood that they belong to the on- 
 looker; for very likely they may not exist in 
 the minds of the participants, whose processes 
 of mind are absolutely different from ours. 
 
 A death occurs, and the pent grief of the 
 human heart, in the presence of the great sting, 
 overflows in manifestations known too well by 
 all of us. A band of music is engaged, and 
 begins to play, continuing to do so night and 
 day until the burial. In all seriousness we 
 should term this the classical music of Burma. 
 Being unappreciative, we call it noise. The 
 instruments are few in number, consisting of a 
 kind of flute, some crude drums thumped with 
 the fleshy part of the hand, and sticks which are 
 
A Funeral Scene Before the I’roecBsion, the Decorated Ilcorsc in the Baek|<rouiid and Musicians in Front 
 
 223 
 
224 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 clapped together. Sometimes to these is added 
 the tapping of little bells. When the players 
 tire, others take their places; and as the long 
 hours of the night drag on, those who watch, 
 in order to keep a- “wake,” gamble, play 
 games, and drink in a fashion not unfamiliar to 
 other peoples. This band playing, which is not 
 entirely without an element of real music, has 
 no doubt something to do with driving away 
 the evil spirits or enticing the good. We could 
 recommend it for the former purpose. 
 
 Meanwhile some male member of the family 
 is off to the saw-pit, and soon returns with 
 lumber for the coffin, which he nails together 
 in the street in front of the house. Friends 
 and relatives are called, and there is much 
 festivity. Judging by the actions of those 
 present, the whole affair is treated with a spirit 
 of indifference or levity. The Burmese ex- 
 pression for funeral means “the unpleasant 
 bearing out, ” but appearances would cause us to 
 omit the negative prefix of the adjective. 
 
 The coffin is a rough box, decorated or not 
 according to the will or affluence of the person 
 who bears the expense. If delay causes the 
 corpse to become obnoxious, powdered charcoal 
 or other preservative is used to cover it. For- 
 merly dead bodies were kept for some days 
 
Play Time 
 
 225 
 
 before burial, but it is now coming to be the 
 custom to inter within a much shorter time. 
 
 The hearse occupies much attention. One is 
 built new for each funeral, from the wheels up. 
 The frame-work is of bamboo, and the decora- 
 tions consist of colored cloth, paper, and tinsel, 
 arranged with the highest artistic skill of the 
 makers. Sometimes the canopy top is made 
 very high, especially when a priest or some 
 prominent person is carried, and then there is 
 great difficulty passing under trees and wires. 
 Usually four wheels are used, a departure from 
 the cart habit, and the writer has seen a 
 carriage for the coffin of a child constructed by 
 connecting two bicycles with a rigid frame. 
 Of whatever form, rigidity characterizes these 
 vehicles, and, having no means of guidance, 
 they are sure to be trouble wagons with other 
 than most careful handling. In anticipation of 
 difficulty the coffins are tied on with ropes. 
 
 First in the procession, the priests march se- 
 dately; then the corpse on its vehicle appears, 
 propelled -by friends or whoever wishes to lend 
 a hand, usually the gay young men of the town. 
 The immediate family of the deceased follow 
 the hearse on foot. Then come the gifts for 
 the priests. These are borne in flat baskets on 
 the heads of the most beautiful and well-dressed 
 
 8 
 
226 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 maids of the neighborhood. They walk in two 
 rows, and thoroughly enjoy the distinction. 
 Their baskets contain boxes of matches, candles, 
 fruits, cigars, betel-nut boxes, and other such 
 small articles, while carts follow them bearing 
 bags of rice and the other heavier gifts. Some- 
 times Indian coolies are employed to join the 
 procession and carry articles dangling from 
 poles on their shoulders. It is a unique sight 
 to see slippers, umbrellas, lamps, tins of biscuits, 
 rugs, and robes thus borne along. The band 
 cart has a prominent place, and the players 
 keep up a continuous tooting and thumping. 
 Last of all, but, to all appearances, not least 
 in importance, come the refreshment carts, 
 filled with lemonade, gifts, and eatables for the 
 attending crowd. Whatever the purpose of this 
 contingent at the rear, it works out in insuring 
 a popular funeral, if popularity is to be measured 
 in crowds of self-seekers. 
 
 Well, our particular procession is at last 
 ready to start off again. The crowd has assured 
 itself that the lemonade cart is in evidence, 
 and is content to trudge on. We join the happy 
 throng, and precede or follow the hearse, or 
 make short cuts at will, in imitation of all the 
 others. And oh, here is a new element that 
 we hadn’t noticed before, because they were 
 
Play Time 
 
 227 
 
 mingling with the crowd — clowns, at least they 
 look and act just like the clowns of the circus 
 parade at home in America. They are half 
 
 naked men, 
 supposed to be 
 dressed and 
 painted to rep- 
 resent angels 
 and devils. 
 And such an- 
 tics, and joking 
 and laughter! 
 Small boys go 
 into ecstacies. 
 The clowns are 
 pulling a little 
 affair mounted 
 on wheels, 
 which is made 
 of cloth and 
 looks like a 
 cannon. There 
 is great interest 
 in this, but all 
 it does for the 
 
 lie Attends the Funeral to Represent an Angel 
 
 present is to 
 pique curiosity. 
 The priests have gone far ahead and are 
 
228 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 sitting by the roadside to rest. With the 
 excuse of making up lost time, there is great 
 bustle at the hearse. Some playful boys have 
 been pushing it back and forth and jumping on 
 for a ride. These are unceremoniously knocked 
 aside, and while they cry the onlookers laugh. 
 The men who push and pull are smoking and 
 joking. Away they go on a run, down a hill, 
 through a sandy place, and up on the other 
 side. Having no way of guiding it, the con- 
 veyance swerves off the road into the ditch 
 and sways fearfully. Perhaps it is not an 
 accident. We have seen youth wink at each 
 other, lift the back end over and give the 
 affair a push sideways. Anyway, no one seems 
 bothered. There is much yelling and laughter 
 as the vehicle is righted, backed up, and sent 
 on its way again. 
 
 In due time the parade reaches the cemetery. 
 Burmese burial-places seem to have been lo- 
 cated with the idea of not wasting on the dead 
 any land that is useful to the living. Especially 
 in the upper country there is such a scarcity 
 of fertile ground that the cemetries are placed 
 on stony plots. Funerals are held in the after- 
 noon; and since morning some friends of the 
 deceased have been engaged in digging the 
 grave on this desolate hilltop. But it is hard 
 
Play Time 
 
 229 
 
 work, and they have reached a depth of only two 
 feet when the procession arrives. But it does 
 not matter; the crowd will help; and perhaps 
 that is the underlying reason why more energy 
 has not been displayed in getting it done in 
 time. 
 
 One of the vanguard volunteers, grasps the 
 hoe-like mattock, and jumps into the hole. 
 The thuds of the instrument and the grunts of 
 the digger are accompanied by the usual witti- 
 cisms indulged in by the crowd when there are 
 many bosses and one workman. When the first 
 recruit has worked up a sweat, another takes 
 his place, and so on till the grave is deep enough, 
 — which depth usually stops far short of six 
 feet. 
 
 Meanwhile the coffin is removed from its 
 carrier and laid to one side. In fact, it receives 
 very little if any attention during the whole 
 ceremony. Everything done seems to be centered 
 on the living, not on the dead. The priests 
 range themselves in a row, and then seat them- 
 selves on mats laid on the ground. Just back 
 of each priest is a little boy, his attendant, who 
 has come to bear away the presents. And in 
 front of the priestly row all these gifts are 
 piled; while beyond them the relatives of the 
 dead are grouped in a kneeling posture. The 
 
2 jo I'll the Land of Pagodas 
 
 priests in concert mumble what seems to be a 
 prayer, at a rapid chant, and the worshipers 
 mumble in response as they bow low and touch 
 their heads to the ground again and again. 
 
 This continues for several minutes; and then 
 suddenly the priests rise to their feet and thus 
 indicate that the procedure is finished. This 
 rising is the signal for the small-boy attendants 
 of the holy men to make a wild scramble for 
 the presents, each trying to do the best he can 
 by his master. The yellow-robed figures dis- 
 dainfully ignore this disgraceful action, and, 
 turning neither to the right hand nor to the 
 left, they walk in single file back to the kyanng, 
 followed by the proud little gift-grabbers. 
 
 Meanwhile again — for there are four centers 
 of attraction, which keep the crowd surging 
 back and forth — there is a clamor for the 
 refreshments. The lemonade — an aerated water, 
 like “soda pop” in America — is distributed and 
 popped, and there is great exuberance of 
 spirits. Sweets and biscuits also go the round; 
 and quite a banquet ensues. 
 
 Fourthly, the clowns do their prettiest and 
 ugliest and funniest. The little cannon is set 
 off and goes flying about over the ground as it 
 explodes, hitting the legs of the onlookers and 
 chasing small boys. This causes great hilarity, 
 and is equal to the greased pig. 
 
Play Time 
 
 231 
 
 And then, — the crowd goes home. For what’s 
 the use of staying when the show is over and 
 they are under no obligation to respect the 
 dead as we do. In this funeral the refresh- 
 ment period was not timed right, and the grave 
 is not finished. From habit we linger to see the 
 body interred. And we see what otherwise we 
 would have missed— the manifestations of un- 
 consoled and unrestrained grief on the part of 
 those near and dear to the one who to them 
 is gone forever. They wail, and roll on 
 the ground, and pull out handfuls of hair. 
 It is pitiable. The sorrow of those “who have 
 no hope” is heart-breaking, even to those who 
 are but spectators. So even in Burma, death 
 is an enemy after all. 
 
 But enough of this, and on to merry times 
 which, to the reader at least, will suggest 
 happier thoughts. 
 
 No one needs to be told that children the 
 world over love to play; and the only difference 
 in them is that some have more opportunity to 
 play than others, and so know more about it. 
 In countries where the children have to work 
 in early years they turn their work into play. 
 Burmese girls and boys — especially boys — have 
 a play chance above the average in eastern lands. 
 Men and women play, too, but first mention 
 
2J2 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 is due to the natural players — the youngsters. 
 
 I suppose that, ever since the wondering 
 eyes of little Cain and Abel saw the first apple 
 or walnut drop from a tree and roll down the 
 hill, the world’s children have liked to play with 
 balls. Of course Burmese boys are not found 
 playing ball, but they play with a ball. There 
 is a difference. I tried in the school at Meiktila, 
 by instruction and long-continued example, to 
 play baseball; but they never got beyond the 
 “butter-finger” stage, and excused themselves 
 by saying that baseball is a boy’s game, but 
 football is a man’s game; forsooth, because the 
 English officials have encouraged football. The 
 football played is the real kicking variety, and is 
 becoming quite popular. 
 
 The Burman schoolboys make a hand ball 
 out of something, even if it is only a rolled-up 
 rag or a wound-up length of cane. One ball 
 game of theirs is played like this: vSay sixteen 
 boys will choose up equal sides. All gird up 
 their skirt-like longees about their loins for 
 greater freedom. Then the boys on one side 
 climb on the backs of those on the other side in 
 the way familiar to us all. The eight “horses” 
 arrange themselves in a circle, each one about 
 fifteen feet from the next. Then the riders toss 
 the ball to each other around the circle; and 
 
Play T ime 
 
 233 
 
 the rule is that the horses must stand in one 
 spot while the game is in progress, though 
 they may move their bodies in order to make 
 the riders miss the ball if possible. If the ball 
 goes around once without being missed, the 
 whole group move around one space to the left, 
 amid great shouting on the part of the victori- 
 ous riders. This is one inning — or may we call it 
 an upping? If this is repeated eight times, or 
 until the horses get around to where they 
 started, the riders have won the game. But 
 rarely does this occur. Instead, the ball is soon 
 missed by some rider; whereupon all the riders 
 are dismounted in a hurry and become horses 
 for their erstwhile riders, till the ball is muffed 
 again. It is good sport, and is worth trying 
 anywhere. 
 
 The typical Burmese football is made of strips 
 of cane — such as are used to cane chair-seats, 
 but heavier — wound into a hollow ball about 
 five inches in diameter. The game with this 
 is very simple — to describe, but not to play well. 
 About eight players gird up, and form a circle. 
 The object is to keep the ball flying in graceful 
 curves through the air from one to another and 
 not let it touch the ground or anyone’s hands. 
 One will start it across the circle with his toe; 
 another will return it by striking it with his 
 
234 A Quiet Game of Burmese Football. Up in the Corner is the Ball Itself Knhirgeri 
 
Play Time 
 
 235 
 
 knee. The nearest player to where it comes 
 down will send it up again with his elbow, 
 shoulder, or head. It takes long practise to be 
 able to let it come down over one’s head from 
 the front, and, by hitting it with the heel, send 
 it back the way it came. It is a mild exercise 
 for a quiet evening in the street in front of the 
 house, and is a game for the quieter sort of 
 larger boys and men. 
 
 The little girls play with dolls, usually wooden 
 or rag ones; and they play jacks with the hard 
 brown seeds of a native tree. To correspond 
 with rope jumping, minus the rope, they sit 
 on their heels, and jump around while in this 
 position, seeing who can keep it up the longest. 
 There is a game like hop-scotch, and one like 
 prisoner’s base. 
 
 While the children play all the time or any- 
 time, the real play time for all Burma is in the 
 evening, beginning at eight o’clock and many 
 times lasting all night. The cool of the day is 
 the time to work, the heat of the day is the 
 time to sleep, and the cool of the night is the 
 time to play. 
 
 Nearly all the good times a Burman has, and 
 especially an adult Burman, he has in con- 
 nection with his religion. Christians are urged 
 to carry their religion into their everyday life, 
 
236 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 and they need to be urged. Buddhists carry 
 their everyday life into their religion, and they 
 do not need to be urged. If the Burman wants 
 to see a circus, a circus-like performance is 
 arranged for a religious feast — or pwe, as it is 
 called. If he wants to gamble (and gambling 
 is a habit among Mongolians) he gambles at 
 the pwe. The feasts and sabbaths and festivals 
 and consecrations provide the “big doings” 
 in Burma. And certainly, when religion is con- 
 ceived of as a convenience, this method has its 
 advantages. But, in passing, we may remark 
 that it in large part explains why it is so hard to 
 separate a Buddhist, and particularly a fun- 
 loving Burmese youth, from his religion. For 
 his religion provides everything youth naturally 
 likes to do. But it lacks the uplift. 
 
 There is the light feast, when for several 
 nights candles innumerable — and nowadays 
 varicolored electric lights where electricity is 
 available — illuminate the fronts of the houses 
 in artistic arrangement, or are set in rows 
 along the streets. 
 
 There is the water feast just before the 
 beginning of the rains, when water frolics of 
 every description are all the fashion. Then 
 look out for your good clothes. Water (seldom 
 clean) is thrown or squirted into the windows 
 
Play Time 
 
 237 
 
 of passing cars or trains; and woe to the well- 
 dressed Burmese lady in the street. She will 
 be drenched. It is the Burmese Hallowe’en, 
 translated in water. 
 
 A pwe is held in honor of some big pagoda, 
 some historical event, a particularly holy day, 
 or as a memorial of a dead priest. There are 
 more or less daytime doings, but the popular 
 time is at night. The whole celebration par- 
 takes of the nature of a street fair, or carnival. 
 Refreshment and gambling booths line the 
 streets, and “skin games” are common. There 
 is boxing, and music, and dancing, and puppet 
 shows, and parades. There is some religious 
 ceremony connected with all of it, but it is 
 such a side — or back — issue that the visitor 
 would not notice it. The whole town turns out, 
 and meets the whole countryside on the thronged 
 streets. 
 
 The parade may come in the daytime. It is 
 usually made up of decorated carts, men 
 dressed — or undressed — as good and bad spirits, 
 men at sword play, and huge imitation animals 
 mounted on wheels. Nearly every parade “has 
 a white elephant on its hands. ” Burma is some- 
 times called “The Land of the White Elephant,” 
 as there attaches to that animal a certain 
 sacredness. A life-sized figure of an elephant 
 
The Orchestra and the Dan. 
 
Play T ime 
 
 239 
 
 will be made of bent bamboos covered with white 
 cloth and paper. The ears, tail, and trunk are 
 made waggable, and as the quaking spectacle 
 rolls down the street two men in the hollow 
 interior flap the ears and move the trunk and 
 tail, to the great delight of hundreds of gleeful 
 children running alongside. 
 
 There are stiffly-acted theatrical shows on 
 gaudy stages, with sing-song conversation pre- 
 dominating. The puppet-shows are Puneh-and- 
 Judy affairs on a larger scale. Crude figures of 
 animals and people are manipulated by sup- 
 posed-to-be-invisible wires from above the low 
 stage. They leap about at a great rate, and get 
 into all sorts of mix-ups. Considerable skill 
 is shown in handling them. Their cutting up 
 is interesting to the foreign visitor for about 
 half an hour ; but the Burmese will sit and watch 
 them off and on all night. 
 
 Burmese girls are famous for their dancing. 
 They do not “trip the light fantastic toe,” but 
 twist the sinuous and supple body. In our 
 dancing our feet show the greatest movement. 
 In Burmese dancing the feet are the only parts 
 of the body that do not move. Then is it 
 dancing? Yes, it is, but the Burmese believe 
 in letting the whole body dance, and not allow- 
 ing the lowly feet to have the monopoly of it. 
 
240 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 And this is good sense when you think of it. 
 
 A small, low platform about the size of a 
 large bed is placed in the open square or street, 
 and decorated a bit. The band is stationed 
 near by, and consists of about five instruments : 
 two crudely made drums, large and small, to 
 correspond with the bass- and snare-drums we 
 have, that are thumped with the fleshy part 
 of the base of the thumb, and are kept in good 
 tune by the players frequently smearing on 
 their surfaces some paste of burnt rice husk; 
 a flute-like instrument with a shrill tone; two 
 bamboos clapped together for cymbals; and last 
 and largest an instrument that comes nearer 
 being a xylophone than any other instrument 
 we know. It looks like a porch railing in 
 circular form, and about four feet in diameter. 
 Between each two spindles, and suspended from 
 the top rail by a string, is a saucer-shaped 
 piece of brass; each of these is of different size 
 and tone from the others. The player gets in 
 the center of the contraption, sits on his heels, 
 and with two little wooden mallets in his hands 
 strikes the saucers. When the music is fast and 
 furious, as it often is, it is necessary for him 
 to hop around in a rather lively manner. 
 
 The dancer demurely takes her place, and 
 smiles at the audience, which applauds vocifer- 
 
Play Time 
 
 241 
 
 ously. Perhaps she blushes, but we can’t see 
 through the thick paste on her face. Her hair is 
 done up tastily on her head, and some beautiful 
 
 little white 
 flowers adorn 
 it. Her dress is 
 the last word 
 in Burmese 
 fashionable fe- 
 male attire. 
 Her lace jacket 
 is made to fluff 
 out with stiff 
 stays and the 
 narrow skirt 
 trails the plat- 
 form, so even 
 her toes are in- 
 visible. vSome- 
 times Burmese 
 maids dance 
 in groups, but 
 more often 
 they do it 
 singly. Good 
 dancers are in 
 great demand, 
 and receive 
 high wages. 
 
 She Sways Gracefully to the Lilting Music 
 
242 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 The music begins with a thump and a blare, 
 and the newcomer, all eyes on the dancing figure, 
 wonders if she is in torturing pain and going 
 into convulsions. Her neck and body and arms 
 twist and turn and coil in the most fantastic 
 contortions imaginable, as she sways grace- 
 fully to the lilting strain of the band. The 
 expression on her ashy face and in her flashing 
 black eyes changes from comedy to tragedy, 
 and shows in turn love, hate, scorn, indifference, 
 and exhilarating joy, as she dances through a 
 story in real life. There is no word nor song. 
 It is moving-picture-like in its pantomime. The 
 visitor says she acts silly, just like a foolish 
 child “putting on airs.” But no; there is more 
 in it than that. Yet one must know the Bur- 
 mese to understand it. All the attractiveness 
 of the drama of oriental life is there. The 
 gathered audience watch with keen interest, 
 and critically appraise the ability or deficiency 
 of even' move the serpentine figure makes. 
 
 Hour after hour the performance continues, 
 with seemingly very little variety. At long 
 intervals the girl sinks wearily to the floor, and 
 there is a time for rest; but very soon she is up 
 arid at it again. Families bring their mat 
 beds to the show and unroll them on the ground. 
 As the gay hours slip by, they gaze and gossip, 
 
Play Time 
 
 243 
 
 and when the night drags they eat and sleep 
 by snatches. At quiet moments can be heard 
 the devout drone of prayers at the nearby 
 pagoda and the tinkle of the htee bells in the soft 
 evening air. Ah, there is a lure about the 
 lights and the colors and the moving throng and 
 the general aspect of something doing, that 
 appeals to the human heart and makes the 
 Burman love his people and his religion very 
 much indeed. Perhaps it is beside the question 
 to ask, What about the day after? But anyway 
 he has a good time while it lasts; and as to 
 how much lasting satisfaction he gets out of it, 
 we do not know, for “The East is East.” 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE INDUSTRIAL METHOD 
 
 T EACHER, I want to learn a trade.” 
 
 He was a sleepy-eyed Burmese young- 
 ster from a distant village, who had heard 
 from afar of the new school. 
 
 “Is it so, San Hla (Beautiful Rice)?” I said 
 cordially. “And what trade do you want to 
 learn? ” 
 
 He wiggled his bare toes in the dust for a 
 moment, and then came out with, “To make 
 
 shoes.” 
 
 “Very well,” and I led him over to the 
 workshop, where several boys of his age were 
 learning to cut, pound, and nail sole leather. 
 He looked at the workers for a few minutes, and 
 slowly a shade of disappointment stole over 
 his brown face. 
 
 “How is that?” I asked. 
 
 “Teacher, I didn’t want to learn to do it 
 that way.” 
 
 “Then how did you want to learn to do it?” 
 “ I want to stand at a machine, and put 
 
 244 
 
Teachers and Students of the Meiktila Technical School in the Early Years of the Institution 
 
246 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 leather in at one side, and pull out a shoe at 
 the other side, all finished.” 
 
 And this boy was just in from a section where 
 they use the same primitive methods and tools 
 in everyday work that the Egyptians used four 
 thousand years ago. Whatever else I gleaned 
 from this encounter with young Burma, I came 
 to know that the boys who were attracted to us 
 would first have to be taught the right view- 
 point toward labor and trades. I painfully 
 explained to this aspirant that it would be many 
 years before shoe-making machinery of ad- 
 vanced type could be introduced into Burma; 
 and in the meantime he would have to begin 
 at the bottom and learn to supply with his 
 hands and a few simple tools what his people 
 needed in the way of foot-gear. We wanted 
 to teach our boys to meet life as it is in their 
 own surroundings. 
 
 He answered (with his mouth) that he under- 
 stood; but he went away sorrowful. Some 
 wild report of what we offered had spoiled him 
 for wholesome labor. This erroneous idea was 
 not born of a desire to use modern methods so 
 much as to use easy methods. It is the case 
 with nearly every Burmese boy that very early 
 in life he and work have had trouble — and 
 they have parted company. Only stern neces- 
 
The Industrial Method 
 
 247 
 
 sity unites them again. So we set out to teach 
 them to mix brains with their work to make 
 it easy, rather than to depend on mechanical 
 power that they could never hope to use. 
 
 We met one of our first problems along this 
 line in digging out the earth for the foundation 
 of our first building. It is the custom to carry 
 the earth in small round baskets. The Burmese 
 women are not too proud to carry this load 
 on their heads, by far the best and least fatigu- 
 ing way for anyone to carry a burden. But 
 the men and boys, never. So our pupils hugged 
 the baskets to their chests and staggered along 
 with great effort to the dumping place. 
 
 We have heard of a missionary in Africa 
 who so pitied the poor natives carrying loads 
 on their heads that he sent to the homeland for 
 a number of wheelbarrows. When they arrived 
 he showed the workmen with great delight 
 just how to use them, and went away feeling 
 that he had made a great strike for the uplift 
 of sorely burdened Africa. But what was his 
 surprise and chagrin on his return later to see 
 the toilers putting a little earth in each barrow, 
 and carrying the whole thing on their heads. 
 
 There was no danger of that with us; but, not 
 to risk too much, we had our carpenter make a 
 few little wooden-wheeled barrows for the job 
 
248 
 
 hi the Land of Pagodas 
 
 in hand. But they were worn out by the boys 
 playing horse with them at odd moments. 
 It takes a long time to teach custom to right- 
 about-face. But we persisted. The Burmans 
 can learn much from their kinfolk across the 
 Chinese border on the use of wheel-barrows. 
 
 We strove to show the boys and their parents 
 that industry and work are not synonymous 
 with toil and drudgery. To them (and this is 
 not confined to Burma) industry suggests work, 
 and work suggests a coolie, and a coolie suggests 
 disgrace. We talked like this: Two boys are 
 removing some earth. One of them, after 
 being compelled to throw aside his basket, 
 which he fills with his hands and not over- 
 fondly embraces, takes pick, shovel, and wheel- 
 barrow. He allows mud to accumulate on the 
 end of his shovel, and pushes and strains with 
 both hands at the end of the handle. He gives 
 a blow with the pick from the height of a foot 
 above the ground. He puts his load near the 
 handles of the barrow, and trundles away with 
 it to the tune of a whining wheel. That is toil. 
 He is a coolie- — a servant to his work. The 
 other boy keeps his tools sharp, so that he will 
 not have to “put to more strength. ” His wheel 
 is oiled, and he makes it carry most of the 
 load. He swings the pick from over his head 
 
The Industrial Method 
 
 249 
 
 with the aid of his body, and gets a knee-push 
 on the shovel handle. He moves twice as much 
 material as his companion, with the same 
 effort. That is work. He is a master work- 
 man-master of his work. It is no disgrace to 
 start as a coolie, but it is a disgrace to remain 
 one. 
 
 But the talking, however convincing to us, 
 did not do much good till we resorted to the 
 proved way of saying “ Come, boys” rather than 
 “Go, boys,” and took the lead in the actual 
 work. And as the weary months passed, 
 gradually some of the boys began to see some 
 dignity and joy in labor. By continually ham- 
 mering away, the idea of work, if not in every 
 case the work itself, was made popular in the 
 school. 
 
 While we recognized that agriculture is the 
 A B C of all industrial work, and so should be 
 taught first in physical education, we found 
 ourselves constrained to push a little further 
 along in the alphabet in order to meet the 
 peculiar conditions of the country. Burma 
 specializes on the tilling of the ground ; and 
 withal does well at it when we take into account 
 all the obstacles in the way. Moreover, the 
 people want some other kind of technical 
 training; and we were led to give them what 
 
250 Tile Woodworking Boys, Their Chinese Teacher, and the Products of Their Hands 
 
The Industrial Method 
 
 251 
 
 they wanted so that we might have an attrac- 
 tion to the school. 
 
 So we first introduced carpentry, then cane- 
 work, and followed with shoe-making. The 
 carpentry grew into furniture making as the 
 buildings were finished. That we might be 
 distinctive, and also that we might the more 
 easily get a market for our wares, we adopted 
 the mission style of furniture; although we had 
 to watch Hong Lee, our Chinese wood-working 
 teacher, that he didn’t round off all the sharp 
 corners. He couldn’t sleep well if he finished 
 a job and left a square corner. 
 
 An expert cane worker could not be found in 
 Burma, although cane furniture brought good 
 prices in the Rangoon market. It was shipped 
 ready-made from Penang or Singapore. Here 
 was our opportunity. After negotiating for 
 some time with our missionaries in Singapore, 
 we contracted for a Chinese cane worker to 
 come up and work for us. His name was 
 Woon Chan Koo, and he was originally from 
 Canton. He knew only his own dialect and 
 Alalay; and it was a long journey to take 
 alone into a strange country. But he dared, 
 and landed from the boat at Rangoon scared 
 pale, and clutching wildly at a copy of the 
 Review and Herald, which the Singapore workers 
 
2 52 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 had given him for identification. Brother 
 Votaw met him; but they could not find one of 
 his fellow-countrymen along the wharf street 
 — and there are thousands of them — who could 
 understand his dialect. A bystander observed 
 after hearing him talk and trying in vain to 
 catch his drift, “Well, that’s one kind of a 
 Chinaman.” 
 
 But we found Woon Chan Koo to be a good 
 kind, for he came through all right, and proved 
 to be a tireless worker who turned out a first- 
 class product. We instructed him by motions 
 at first; but he soon picked up enough Burmese 
 to express himself, and especially after he 
 married a Burmese wife. He and his pupils 
 were soon manufacturing chairs and baskets 
 by the dozen, for which we found a ready sale. 
 
 Our best business was in leather. For a 
 teacher we got a man from India, who had 
 learned to make English-style shoes indirectly 
 from missionaries. It was hopeless to compete 
 with Chinese and Burmese cheap labor and long 
 working hours in making the native sandals. 
 We did not neglect instruction in this, but led 
 on to more difficult makes. American lasts 
 and leathers were imported and a specialty 
 made of some better styles. We introduced 
 the wide turned-up toe, fashionable at that 
 
Woon Chan Koo (in the middle of the doorway) and His Class of Cone Workers 253 
 
2J4 I n the Land of Pagodas 
 
 time; and soon were supplying missionaries, 
 officials, and the many Burmese who are 
 adopting Western shoes. Our repair work was 
 very extensive. Bright yellow, low-cut shoes 
 were in biggest demand with the natives. 
 
 Many boys would not stick to a trade long 
 enough to master it; so a deposit of five rupees 
 ($1.60) was required of those who started a 
 trade, as a guaiantee that they would stick 
 to it for a year. After they once got to the 
 place where they accomplished something worth 
 while, there was. not much difficulty in keeping 
 them at it. Again, they were not anxious 
 to work unless they received pay; and we had 
 to adapt ourselves to this short-sighted view, 
 and yet not spoil the boys. So we paid them 
 two pice (one cent) an hour when they did 
 more harm than good in waste of material ; 
 and later they got one anna (two cents) when 
 they earned two annas. They understood the 
 scheme, but preferred working that way rather 
 than getting nothing but increased skill for 
 compensation at first. Also w T e found that we 
 could get on with them best, and with the 
 least inconvenience to us, if we paid them cash 
 in hand for their work, rather than apply their 
 wages on their accounts. They wanted to 
 handle the coins. 
 
The Industrial Method 
 
 2 55 
 
 From the very start, the difficulties en- 
 countered in keeping the school out of debt 
 were constant sources of worry. This state of 
 affairs is nothing unusual in many institutions 
 and families; but with the school there it had a 
 unique setting; and it is of interest to note 
 how the good hand of God helped us in our 
 extremities. We started out well, being able 
 to buy the land and erect one school building 
 with the money subscribed locally. This was 
 after two years hard pulling. By the close 
 of the third year we had a mission home built 
 with means supplied by the Mission Board. 
 
 By another strong effort we were able to raise 
 sufficient to build our technical arts building, 
 the same size as the school house. A mat 
 teacher’s house and boys’ dormitory followed 
 in due course. So far we were able to keep 
 our heads above the waters of debt, but were 
 hard pressed. After the first flush of novelty 
 had worn off the idea of learning trades, we 
 found it more and more difficult to get the 
 boys to be enthusiastic over the work we were 
 doing. We were trying to change centuries 
 of ingrained habit, and it w T ould take a long as 
 well as a strong pull. The crisis was approach- 
 ing that always threatens a new venture, which 
 ends in complete failure on one hand or “getting 
 second wind” on the other. 
 
256 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Our expense budget came under three heads: 
 (i) salaries and general expense for teaching 
 the trades; (2) salaries of literary teachers; 
 (3) boarding the boys who lived on the campus. 
 As to the first: without charging the boys any 
 tuition for trades, and by paying them a mini- 
 mum wage for salable products, we managed to 
 make the trades average self-support. In the 
 case of the book-learning department, the small 
 tuition we were able to charge — the rate set 
 for the government-controlled schools — was not 
 nearly sufficient to pay the teachers’ salaries — 
 this mainly because the attendance was not 
 large. The enrollment had run up to one hun- 
 dred and forty, but had dropped as we met 
 counter-attractions and opposing forces got to 
 work. And the boarding department ran be- 
 hind because we had taken in a number of 
 promising orphans and cast-offs who had no 
 money at all. Much of the expense for 
 these, however, was made up by interested 
 friends in America who supported worthy 
 boys. 
 
 As a whole the school was slowly sinking, 
 financially, although it had all the ear-marks 
 of success in other particulars. We could not 
 go on this way and live. What was to be done? 
 Of course we were told by those who had 
 
The Industrial Method 
 
 257 
 
 tried to do the same thing we were doing and 
 had failed, and by those who opposed the 
 whole aim of the school as commendable but 
 futile, that they knew that this was just what we 
 would come to. For Burmese boys could not be 
 induced to work, they said, especially in con- 
 nection with a school. They never knew how 
 near their prophecy came true. So it was 
 driven home to us that we had better give up 
 our dream of technical education, settle back 
 to a literary school like all the others in the 
 country — and accept government aid. 
 
 That question of government aid had been 
 our stumbling block from the first. The govern- 
 ment of India and Burma has a system whereby 
 private or mission schools may receive financial 
 aid from the Government to the extent of half 
 of the cost of buildings and half of the teacher’s 
 salaries. (There are no public schools in Burma 
 such as are in the United States). Naturally, 
 in return for such help, the Government Edu- 
 cational Department claims a hold on all aided 
 institutions. In order to regulate them and have 
 a uniform course of study, standard text books, 
 and properly qualified teachers, a curriculum 
 is outlined, texts are approved, and teachers are 
 required to pass government examinations, be- 
 fore aid is granted. 
 
 9 
 
he Indian Teacher and Ilia Cluss of Shoemaker*. Showing Some of Their Hundiworlc 
 
The Industrial Method 
 
 259 
 
 Nearly all schools conform, and accept this 
 aid, being unable to maintain themselves with- 
 out it and at the same time compete success- 
 fully with other institutions. And there were a 
 great many reasons why we also should accept 
 it; for we were not at all opposed to it in prin- 
 ciple, nor were we teaching anything that would 
 tend to make us outlaws or seditionists. Yet 
 we struggled on for five years without a pice 
 from it. On the opening of our work we were 
 urged to take the aid — urged by government 
 officials, and it was a very grave question for 
 some time whether we would or not. We 
 decided against it, at least till we had tried the 
 other way. And this because we felt that we 
 must be free if we expected to develop our ideals 
 successfully. 
 
 To follow the Government outlined course 
 exactly would mean that we would have very 
 little time for anything else. Other mission 
 schools were finding difficulty to add Bible 
 study and general Christian work to their 
 program, subjects for which the prescribed 
 curriculum made no provision. How could we 
 find time for several hours a day for trade 
 teaching also? With an easy-going people in a 
 tropic clime, who were not given to study or 
 energetic effort, it could not be done. 
 
260 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 So we compromised by eliminating some 
 literary subjects which were not necessary for 
 a boy who was to learn a trade, correlated 
 studies as much as possible, taught the boys 
 healthful, steady habits, and sought God’s 
 blessing on our efforts. And thus we were 
 able to get in a full program of practical work. 
 
 Then came the climax of our struggle. A 
 conference of government officials, merchants, 
 and manufacturers was called at Rangoon to 
 determine what could be done in the way of 
 technical education in the province. One man 
 who was present told me afterward that they 
 closed the conference with the settled conviction 
 that nothing could be done, or at any rate that the 
 time was not ripe for a beginning. Some sloyd 
 subjects had been introduced into the schools, 
 but they were largely optional, and met with 
 little favor. 
 
 But before and after this conference we were 
 toiling along, trying hard to prove something 
 to the country and ourselves, and to all appear- 
 ances making a complete fizzle of it. It is 
 plain to be seen now that all that was needed 
 was a connecting up of our interests and those 
 of the Government. We could at least partly 
 solve their problem of technical education, and 
 they could wholly solve our financial one. Just 
 
The Industrial Method 
 
 261 
 
 when we were in our most dire straits, one day 
 the commissioner of education in our district 
 made us an unsolicited visit. He took a thorough 
 view of the whole plant, and asked many 
 questions. When he was ready to leave he 
 ejaculated, “Well, you are doing just what that 
 conference in Rangoon said couldn't be done.” 
 
 Almost immediately we heard trom the Edu- 
 cational Department, urging that we take steps 
 to get recognition. It was with some mis- 
 givings that we entered into negotiations with 
 the officials. But red tape seemed to be the 
 chief obstacle in the way, and they were very 
 willing to make concessions for our sakes, since 
 they recognized that we had really made a 
 creditable beginning at teaching trades to Bur- 
 mese youth. 
 
 After that the way was easy. We were 
 given permission to substitute technical subjects 
 for literary, under certain restrictions, which 
 were very reasonable; and the elementary hand 
 work was adapted to our needs. 
 
 Thus our land and buildings are freehold 
 still, because we paid in full for them. Half 
 of the teachers’ salaries are paid by the Govern- 
 ment, with the privilege of withdrawing from 
 this arrangement at the end of any school 
 year, if we so choose. With government recog- 
 
262 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 nition as a drawing card, and through the 
 efficient management of my successor in the 
 school, Don C. Ludington, the enrollment has 
 doubled, and brighter days are ahead. The 
 institution is self-supporting, and boasts a 
 surplus each year, a degree of material pros- 
 perity beyond the hope of its most sanguine 
 well-wishers. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE EVERYDAY OF MISSIONARY LIFE 
 
 W E HAD been speaking of some diffi- 
 culties, financial and otherwise, of living 
 in a foreign land as a missionary, when 
 a friend exclaimed, “Why don’t you live like 
 the natives? You say they live on a few cents a 
 day.” And our answer w r as, “Because we 
 don’t want to die like the natives.” But this 
 is only part of the answer that the question 
 deserves. The home-come missionary meets 
 also the following: “ How do you like living over 
 there? Can you really get used to it so that 
 it seems like home? Did a snake ever get into 
 your bed? How many tigers” — etc., etc., etc. 
 
 All such questions are perfectly natural, and 
 deserve fair answers. There are thousands of 
 stories of how people on the other side of the 
 world live, and many of them are contradic- 
 tory. Yet we sincerely believe that nearly all 
 who tell them aim to give a true picture. Mis- 
 sionaries particularly seek to make correct im- 
 pressions, nor do they knowingly exaggerate. 
 
 263 
 
The Mission Home at Meiklila Soon After It was lluilt, the Cook House and Servants’ Quarters in the Hear 
 
The Everyday of Missionary Life 265 
 
 So we wonder where false impressions originate. 
 
 Ask three residents of the United States how 
 people live in this country, when one of the three 
 was reared in New York City, another in an 
 Arizona desert, and the third on a North 
 Dakota farm. They may all tell the exact 
 truth and flatly contradict one another. But 
 America is a big country. Yes, and so is the 
 Indian Empire, with much more varied a 
 climate and population. We will not take space 
 to elucidate this, as any good book on life in 
 southern Asia will show it. Reporters’ view- 
 points differ according to their immediate sur- 
 roundings and the features which impress them 
 most. 
 
 We will tell something of what it means for a 
 missionary to live in Burma. Frankly, we did not 
 like to live there — at first. Or perhaps I had 
 better say, at second. For at first our curiosity 
 was daily keyed up by fresh surprises and the 
 newness of all of it, to the extent that life was 
 a series of adventures. This keenness soon 
 passed away, though not entirely, as there is 
 always something new to learn in these countries 
 as at home. 
 
 When we settled down to the routine life, then 
 came the really hard part, the period between 
 adventure and accomplishment. This time of 
 
266 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 adaptation is tided over by resoluteness of soul, 
 a firm trust in the guidance of God, and a 
 finding of comfort in memories and hopes. Home- 
 sickness of the most virulent type will come with 
 its heartsinkings, a few strange, acute ailments 
 pester the body, and unsympathetic surround- 
 ings and unsatisfactory living conditions gener- 
 ally try the patience of the soul experience. 
 
 But the missionary goes forth expecting such 
 enemies to try his steel. And they are only 
 passing troubles. When the language is gotten 
 sufficiently so that he can converse on simple 
 topics with the people, say by the end of the 
 first year or before; when he gets well acclimated, 
 which does not come much before the third 
 year; and when he sees the needy helped by, 
 and appreciative of, his efforts — then he begins 
 to get into the heart of native life. And there 
 is always high satisfaction in working with the 
 hearts of any people. 
 
 After three years we wanted to stay in Burma 
 for all time, although of course there is always 
 a longing to visit the home folks once in a 
 great while; but even this wears away with the 
 years and a furlough or two. And after being 
 compelled to leave the field and sta)' away for a 
 few years, we find the longing ever present to 
 return to Burma for good. Every home-tied 
 
The Everyday of Missionary Life 267 
 
 missionary testifies to this heart hunger for the 
 land of his exploits for God. 
 
 As to wild beasts and reptiles, much depends 
 upon where the mission home is located. Wild 
 animals do not attack man unless they are 
 driven to it, or unless he purposely or acci- 
 dentally disturbs them in their haunts. During 
 our whole experience we never saw a wild 
 elephant, never a tiger or a cobra or a wild 
 boar except in a zoo, and very few deer, snakes, 
 and monkeys. Deer barking and monkey 
 chattering are common sounds in the hills, but 
 it is difficult to get near the animals themselves. 
 
 One dark night we were riding down a steep 
 road with our feet dangling out of the rear end 
 of a native cart. Suddenly a chetah, a mild 
 leopard-like member of the cat family who dotes 
 on dog flesh, made a wild leap from an over- 
 hanging bank in an effort to seize our cartman’s 
 dog. He succeeded in badly scaring the canine 
 and in making our blood run cold, but other- 
 wise we suffered no harm. 
 
 We have seen four-inch centipedes as thick 
 as your finger wiggle toward us across the 
 living room floor; and have roused out whole 
 nests of scorpions from the mat walls of our 
 house; but it required little effort to keep away 
 from the poison of these little pests and to 
 dispatch them in a hurry. 
 
268 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Our worst experience with a snake occurred 
 one night when we were returning from a visit. 
 Snakes like to stretch out in the dust of the 
 road in the moonlight, and it is well to be on 
 the watch for them. Merwin, our oldest boy, 
 was wheeling his little sister in a go-cart just 
 ahead of me; the wheel must have run over one 
 of these snakes, and then the boy stepped on it. 
 He was wearing sandals and the reptile curled 
 up and bit him on the instep. He shouted out 
 with great pain and I urged his mother on to the 
 house with him to get the wound opened up, 
 while I stayed for a minute to kill and secure 
 the snake so that we could see if it were poison- 
 ous. 
 
 In a few minutes our Burmese servant came 
 running with a light, and on investigation said 
 that the one I had killed was very deadly, and 
 that we must do something for Merwin im- 
 mediately if we would save his life. Meanwhile 
 the boy was rolling on the floor in agony as the 
 pain increased. We were distracted to know 
 what to do and resorted to sucking the wound 
 to get out the poison; but the servant took a 
 light and ran out into the field to get the leaves 
 of a certain weed that is known to be good 
 in such a case. When these leaves were rubbed 
 into the bite it seemed to help a little, and after 
 some time Merwin went to sleep. 
 
a fortnight was all over the effects of the acci- 
 dent. Our man attributed his recovery partly 
 to the weed leaves and partly to the fact that 
 the snake was a young member of the species, 
 whose poison was not so virulent as that of 
 mature ones. 
 
 We found that it was best to keep the yard 
 immediately around the house free from growth 
 of any kind, even grass, and this had a tendency 
 
 The Everyday of Missionary Life z6g 
 
 We prayed earnestly for his life and were 
 gratified to find him not getting any worse. 
 He was unable to walk for several days but in 
 
 Interior of the Mission House at Meiktila, Showing how Homelike 
 it May be Made, Even to the Cat 
 
27 o In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 to keep reptiles at a distance. Altogether, I do 
 not believe we saw any larger number of snakes 
 in Burma than we have seen during the same 
 length of time in America. 
 
 We did not live like the natives in Burma. 
 Dr. Brown, in his book, The Foreign Missionary , 
 says, “The natives do not live; they die. ” The 
 mortality is fearful. Ignorance and unsanitary 
 conditions make for disease and death at a rate 
 unknown in western lands. Burma is prolific 
 in children, but oh how fast they die! The land 
 would be in continual mourning if death affected 
 them as seriously as it does some. 
 
 Another reason why the missionaries do not 
 live like the natives is because western dress 
 has grown to be distinctive of authority, and 
 in some cases, of superiority; so it commands 
 their respect, just as does a white face. These 
 things are badges of power to the native and ap- 
 peal to his sense of respect for leadership. 
 
 Again, foreigners can not get so accustomed 
 to the climate that they can go about in native 
 costume, bareheaded. However, missionaries 
 come as near being like the sons of the soil as 
 possible, so that they may better understand 
 the native mind and heart. And there is no 
 question but that the nearer one comes to living 
 as they do, the cheaper will his living be. But, 
 
The Everyday of Missionary Life 2yi 
 
 considering the standards the missionary must 
 maintain, with all the economy he can practise, 
 he will find that living costs are just about the 
 same as in America. Certain foods are cheaper, 
 such as rice and fruits; but some foods that he 
 must have in poor seasons, and for a change of 
 diet, must come from abroad and are costly. 
 A suit of light clothes costs less, but he must 
 needs have several of them and have them 
 washed often. Rents are lower, but what is 
 saved there is eaten up in servant hire. 
 
 A few servants are absolutely necessary. 
 The full complement of a household is supposed 
 to be seventeen. But missionaries get along 
 with one or two full-time, and a few part-time, 
 helpers. Because the servant class are usually 
 Indians, and caste-bound, it is difficult to get 
 them to do more than one line of work. The 
 cook is the necessity, because of the heat. But 
 he doesn’t want to wash dishes nor wait on the 
 table; and he simply won’t sweep, for cleaning 
 is considered one of the lowest of scavenger jobs. 
 
 Missionaries must have servants, because 
 both man and wife are not sent to the field to 
 drudge and hang over a fire, but to win souls. 
 But a few servants are not expensive luxuries. 
 Their wages are low, ranging from $5 to $10 a 
 month, they finding their own food, although 
 
2J2 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 they “find” much of it by little bits filched from 
 what is doled out to be cooked for master’s 
 table. But to the servant this is not stealing. 
 It is “custom.” That word is the excuse for 
 many a privilege taken at the expense of the 
 household budget. 
 
 The kitchen is a separate building back of 
 the house. Its stove is a solid stone, brick, or 
 cement table-like affair with large niches in the 
 top to contain the fire. Wood is the fuel and the 
 smoke escapes as it may, through door, window, 
 or an open-work roof. The Indian chef concocts 
 some dainty and tasty dishes with his crude 
 apparatus. He bakes an excellent cake in an 
 old oil can for an oven, and boils rice to flaky 
 perfection. 
 
 It is morning of an ordinary day in our mis- 
 sion home. We rise at six and resort to the 
 bathroom for a cool pour. Off every bedroom is 
 the ten-by-twelve bath and toilet room, not, 
 however, the elaborate affair of the West. A 
 cement floor, with a three-inch hole in the corner 
 for an outlet, with a large earthen jar of water 
 and other toilet articles for furniture — this is 
 the bathroom. 
 
 Once up and around we brew a hot drink over 
 a litle oil stove and sip it to the accompaniment 
 of a slice of toast for “little breakfast.” 
 
The Everyday of Missionary Life 273 
 
 The cook has not appeared yet. Under in- 
 struction from the night before he is off at 
 daylight to bazaar to buy the day’s food. If 
 it were big bazaar day( big bazaar comes every 
 fifth day) we would go too, to meet the people 
 from the whole countryside, to get a change from 
 routine, and for economy in buying. But the 
 cook does fairly well; in fact he gets food cheaper 
 than we can from the dealers, though before it 
 reaches us it is diminished in weight. Be it 
 known that bazaar is market, a central in- 
 closure where everyone goes to buy or sell 
 everything. 
 
 As we bustle about the house, the dude 
 wallah (milk man) knocks at the door. He has 
 come at a swinging walk with two pails of milk 
 slung from a pole over one shoulder. The 
 liquid would spill over with this motion were it 
 not that, as he passed a straw stack or tree, he 
 grabbed a handful of straw or twigs to put 
 into it. As he squats on the door step we put 
 down a container, and wink our eyes as he bares 
 one arm to the elbow, plunges a dirty hand to the 
 bottom of the milk and fishes out his two 
 measuring cups. Full measure given, he throws 
 in a little for backsheesh (a present) , and wipes 
 up the spilled drops from the floor with the 
 bare hand, which goes into the next customer’s 
 
274 /« Lh e Land of Pagodas 
 
 milk. But never mind, we can’t change him. 
 We tried having him bring our milk in a bottle, 
 but we could never be sure about the bottles 
 being clean, and he always brought it immersed 
 in the other milk. So we strain and boil his 
 product, and let not our appetites know what 
 our eyes see. 
 
 The mater is next on hand. He is the general 
 scavenger, and always carries a broom, a stocky 
 bunch of coarse straws which are set so far 
 apart at their business ends that we wonder 
 how its wielder ever manages to move the dust. 
 But he does a fair piece of cleaning, if we insist 
 on it, though the corners get scant attention. 
 
 This is the morning for the dhobi (laundry- 
 man). He appears, almost hidden under a 
 snow-white bundle of clothes, and we get out 
 the dhobi book, a record of what he took last 
 week. He lays out the clean linen on bed and 
 table and chairs, each kind by itself, counting 
 them over in a droning monotone, as mem- 
 sahib (the mistress of the house) checks them 
 off. He is severely admonished to be sure to 
 bring next time one or two articles that are 
 missing, and roundly scolded for having broken 
 off thirteen buttons in this week’s wash. He 
 bows to the floor in humility and promises any- 
 thing, only that mem-sahib shall be pleased. He 
 
The Everyday of Missionary Life 275 
 
 has washed the clothes by beating them on a 
 stone by the lake side, and stretching them on 
 the grass to dry. It is surprising how snowy 
 they are, and starched collars are finished 
 first-class. All this for $1.60 a hundred pieces, 
 regardless of size. Then we give him the soiled 
 linen for this week, counting it all over care- 
 fully, and send him away with a pleasant word. 
 
 Next the rotie wallah with his bread basket 
 on his head summons us with his call, and 
 supplies a good quality of white bread. The 
 cloth he has over it isn’t the cleanest, and 
 someone tells us he sleeps on his mixing board; 
 but you can’t believe all you hear. Anyway this 
 is the only way to get bread, for cook can’t 
 bake it. 
 
 Then the pannie wallah, (water carrier), 
 bent almost double with a huge pig-skin of water 
 on his back, comes laboring up the steps and 
 fills the jars in the bathroom with a swish. 
 Also the five gallon can for drinking water is 
 filled. When cook comes he will boil this, and 
 put it in a porous earthen jar on a stand in the 
 dining room; it will be cool (that is, as cool 
 as water gets in Burma, which is usually luke- 
 warm) for tomorrow. It must be carefu Iv 
 strained, too, for the pannie wallah walked 
 right into the lake to get it, where hundreds of 
 
2y6 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 others walk every day for the same purpose. 
 
 Cook is back from bazaar, and is doled out 
 food for breakfast, which is served at io: 30. 
 Meanwhile the missionary man has been about 
 
 Our Water Was Brought from the Lake in a Barrel on Wheels 
 
 his duties in school, evangelistic work, or 
 mission business. School began early, and this 
 is the midday recess. 
 
 The meal is of dahl, grains and milk, rice 
 and curry, and fruit. Appetites are none too 
 good, but there is a relish notwithstanding. 
 Cook waits on table (with rather poor grace, for 
 it is a disgrace) carrying over his shoulder his. 
 
The Everyday of Missionary Life 277 
 
 general-purpose cloth (if we let him). This 
 cloth does duty for a dozen uses, from handling 
 hot dishes to wiping his hands and face — even 
 to use as a drinking-water strainer, if the 
 mem-sahib isn’t particular. All of which goes 
 to show that if we keep well in Burma we must 
 watch our servants, our food and water, and our 
 general surroundings, and yet not be too finicky 
 about dirt if it is clean, and about germs if 
 they are dead. 
 
 In the middle of the day the missionary 
 ought to take a siesta — a nap of two hours’ 
 duration — if he would be one with the people, 
 and be sensible. The failure to do this has 
 sent many a worker home. After rest-hour, 
 reading and study are indulged. 
 
 As four o’clock approaches we take a shower 
 bath with our dipper, and change to clean 
 clothing. Four is the calling hour, from then 
 till six. There is a social call or two to be made, 
 which is a part of the missionary’s work. Social 
 calls mean a great deal in the East, and open the 
 way for gospel work. Of course at these hours 
 also we remain at home, on certain days, and 
 receive callers. We find our neighbors devoting 
 plenty of time in their calendars for hospitality 
 and visiting; but it must be done at a certain 
 time in the day, when all are dressed up for it. 
 
2y8 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 At other hours, comfort in a warm clime demands 
 a state of undress unpresentable for callers, in 
 their estimation. 
 
 Six o’clock or thereabouts finds us at dinner, 
 though the people generally, foreigners and all, 
 eat their most elaborate meal at eight. Ours 
 is a Burmo-American vegetable dinner, served 
 in three or four courses. 
 
 Later evening is the opportune time for round- 
 ing off the day’s work in visiting interested 
 believers and the sick, giving pictured Bible 
 lectures in the village, planning the next day’s 
 work, and in reading or study. Before ten we 
 are in bed, to complete a perfect missionary 
 day. 
 
 The life is ideal and fascinating, after we settle 
 down to it. Mingled with toil and the common- 
 place are the hundred and one passing interests 
 and attractions which make life anywhere a 
 joy — the quaintness and simplicity of the jungle 
 folk; the freshness of early morning; the squeak 
 of cart wheels and the distant drumming of 
 native music; the hollow tapping of eow-bells 
 and the bleating of goats; the majesty and force 
 of storms and the dead quiet of noondays; the 
 clearness of rainbows and most glorious of sunsets; 
 the purple haze of twilight, and an endless 
 variety of lures and delights that make Burma 
 
The Everyday of Missionary Life 27 g 
 
 Burma. While the same as other lands in many 
 respects, yet it is different in its very similarity 
 — which paradox needs to be lived in order 
 to be understood. 
 
 A Missionary Group at the Hill Station, Kalaw 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE REWARDS OF LABOR 
 
 T HE rewards of a missionary’s labor are 
 souls won for Christ. There are other 
 rewards, and the worker gets his thrills 
 and satisfaction from stations established, litera- 
 ture distributed, large school attendances, build- 
 ings erected, and reputations gained; but these 
 are as nothing beside the real reward. It is the 
 final incentive that keeps him in the field at 
 work amid strain and loss and sickness and 
 utter discouragement. The wise man said, 
 (and he knew) “ He that winneth souls is wise. ” 
 He might have added, “ and happy. ” 
 
 So, not to say there are no joys of living and 
 seeing, of accomplishing and sacrificing for a 
 good cause, we will simply leave them out of this 
 story. And because there is a strong desire 
 on the part of the folks at home to know things 
 as they are in the mission field, we will begin 
 with a failure — that is, a seeming failure now; 
 but the end is not yet. The hero days of the 
 mission endeavor are not past; but to tell the 
 
 280 
 
The Rewards of Labor 281 
 
 truth about the work so that the reader gets 
 a true picture, it is necessary to notice the plod- 
 ding heroes as well as the meteoric ones. 
 
 Christian readers of these lines can never 
 know the long trail that leads from rank heathen 
 customs, modes of thought, and moral ideals, 
 to the heights of Christianity. From the human 
 standpoint it is small wonder that some stumble 
 in the Way, and fall to rise again no more. 
 The wonder is that they continue at all, with 
 all there is to overcome. But God’s love and 
 power are wonders, and that’s how they can 
 — and do. Would you see a life now in the 
 making upward, with its ups and downs — just 
 now, downs? Would you follow a biography 
 the sequel of which is yet to be written because 
 it is yet to be lived? Then read the story of 
 Ba Sain (we will call him Ba Sain because that 
 is not his name). Every missionary has these 
 unfinished biographies stored away in his heart, 
 which are added to from day to day. And 
 each is unfinished because he still hopes and 
 prays and works to the purpose that the last 
 chapter shall be as happy as the latest is dis- 
 heartening. 
 
 Ba Sain boarded the train with all the non- 
 chalance of his fifteen Burman years. Head up, 
 walk a swagger, lips ready to accost any and 
 
282 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 every one with a pleasantry, he sat down on the 
 narrow board seat of the third-class compart- 
 ment, and deposited his bundle by his side. 
 With the same air, he lighted a cigarette, and 
 blew smoke out the window, his feet perched on 
 the opposite seat. He looked the personi- 
 fication of self-satisfaction. Nothing mattered. 
 
 But this was all on the outside. Ba Sain was 
 troubled. The careless demeanor was habitual, 
 but beneath it there slumbered a conscience. 
 He wanted satisfaction, that boon we all want. 
 His mother had been a Buddhist nun, and had 
 lost her mind; and his father was rather in- 
 different about him. He was going to live with 
 his married sister in Rangoon. Perhaps the 
 great city held what he desired. 
 
 The long train curved snakelike among the 
 far-reaching rieefields, Ba Sain looked out, but 
 did not see. He was thinking of a legend of the 
 great Gautama, which his father had told him 
 that day. In a former existence, Gautama had 
 been a calf, and when his mother drank at the 
 brook, he inadvertently drank from a little way 
 up-stream, and muddied the water which his 
 mother was drinking. For this breach of good 
 manners he was fated forever after to have all 
 water become muddy as soon as he raised it to 
 his lips. Strange truth, this! 
 
The Rewards of Labor 
 
 283 
 
 Worshipping before a Buddha in a Sacred Cave 
 
 Ba Sain recalled a recent experience in which 
 his susceptible conscience had been overurged 
 to get him to seek the jungle places near Maul- 
 
284 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 main, where the priests lived an ascetic life and 
 had to be supported in their walk because their 
 food was “vegetation.” He sought the peace 
 they seemed to have, but it was not for him. 
 Perhaps the Good Man would yet lead him in 
 the true way. But just now he was on the 
 point of giving up everything that disciplined, 
 and starting to do just as he pleased. What 
 was the use of trying, anyway? Other people 
 were happy, why shouldn’t he be? This endless 
 trying-to-do-right-and-ean’t was maddening. 
 The Christians were the best favored, and hadn’t 
 their God helped them to rule almost the whole 
 world? Yet every one said that Burma had 
 become more wicked, and that there was more 
 disease, since the Christians came. The puzzle 
 of things as they are was too much for him. 
 
 As the train rolled on, vague plans for the 
 future became a part of his reverie — vague 
 because he knew so little about the city and 
 its ways. With but a change of clothing and 
 his ticket to Rangoon, he must now make 
 his own way in the world ; and what place would 
 his scant education find for him? He was eager 
 and willing, but — Nicotine just then called for 
 another puff, and on suiting the action to the 
 desire, he found that the cigarette had “gone 
 dead.” And his matches were gone, too. How 
 
The Rewards of Labor 
 
 285 
 
 careless! (No, how providential!) He looked 
 around, and saw a man and a boy watching 
 him. 
 
 “Is there a match with you?’’ he asked; and 
 after he said it, he noticed that the man had 
 been reading a book, and there was a pleased 
 expression on his face. 
 
 “No,” came the answer, “I don’t drink 
 smoke; so I have no need of matches.” 
 
 “Strange,” thought Ba Sain; and he asked 
 aloud, “What book do you read?” 
 
 “The Bible.” 
 
 “O, a Christian!” and there was a tone of 
 dampened friendliness in his voice. “You are 
 a Christian, and you don’t drink smoke? 
 How is that? I learned to smoke cigarettes in 
 a Christian school. Doesn’t the Christian’s 
 God drink smoke?” This in a bantering 
 voice. 
 
 The man looked displeased, and the boy 
 laughed. 
 
 “No, God doesn’t drink smoke; and true, 
 enlightened Christians do not either. It is a 
 bad habit, bad for the body, and the mind, 
 and the heart. I know a Christian school where 
 neither the teachers nor the boys drink smoke. 
 I wish you could go there.” 
 
 Well, here was a new thing in Burma, and 
 
286 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Ba Sain caught at the idea. He was informed 
 of a school at Meiktila where the boys were 
 taught morals and hand-work as well as the 
 book lessons the other schools taught. Yes, 
 poor boys could have a chance; for the tuition 
 fees were low, and if a boy were diligent he 
 could earn his way. He would emerge from 
 the school with a trade, a character, and a 
 trained mind. 
 
 Ba Sain questioned in his mind about “coolie 
 work” being in any way desirable, but here 
 was a chance to get “book learning,” and it 
 was not to be scorned. This well-appearing man 
 was a teacher in the school, and was now on his 
 way there. Perhaps it was all untrue; but he 
 was absorbed in it, and the time passed quickly 
 till the train arrived at Pegu. Here the erst- 
 while fellow-travelers parted, and in two hours 
 Ba Sain was being jostled by the crowd at the 
 Rangoon station. 
 
 His sister lived in a poorer section of the 
 noisy city. Burma’s metropolis seethed like a 
 caldron at this season. The intense heat was 
 accentuated by the crowded condition. The 
 choky dust, the filth of the foreign element, 
 the rabble among whom he was as nothing, dis- 
 gusted him in a short time. What chance here 
 without money? Then he opened his heart 
 
The Rewards of Labor 287 
 
 about that school, and a sympathetic sister 
 heard with interest. It appealed to them. 
 A will was born, and a way was sure to follow. 
 Somehow she got together ten rupees for him, 
 and half of it was spent for a ticket to Meiktila. 
 God bless her sacrifice! She is dead now, but 
 that was the greatest thing she ever did. 
 
 The boy came without previous notice or 
 arrangement ; and the next morning, before day- 
 light, he was landed at the “desired haven,” 
 but hardly knowing “whither he went.” There 
 were no likely persons astir to guide him, so he 
 sat down on a step and waited — waited for 
 some one to come; for he was sure some one 
 would come. At daylight the very boy whom 
 he had seen with the teacher on the train passed 
 that way. Hailing him and making explana- 
 tions, the rest was easy. We took him on the 
 recommendation of his efforts to reach us. 
 
 At first he was disappointed. His natural 
 love of a big show was not satisfied. There was 
 only a rented building, and no school com- 
 pound. No trades were taught yet, and there 
 were but few boys, compared with the school 
 he had attended. But it offered a better chance 
 for an education than did Rangoon or home. 
 Little did he realize that an institution is as 
 great as its principles, and that the most privi- 
 
288 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 leged persons in the world are those who do not 
 despise the “day of small things,” but are 
 pioneers in a noble work. The teachers treated 
 him kindly, and took a personal interest in 
 helping him to improve; and soon he felt at 
 home, with one exception — the hated Chris- 
 tianity. 
 
 He had held the indifference of youth, even 
 to Buddhism, before; but now that he was 
 feeling its hold on him loosen almost before he 
 knew it, he was roused to fight for it with 
 desperation. Ba Sain was honest and energetic, 
 and these very traits made him an ardent 
 disciple of Gautama, when his cause was assailed. 
 But nothing was said to discountenance his 
 faith in the Buddha. The simple truth was told, 
 but it brought forth many a hard-fought 
 argument with the teachers. And this worthy 
 champion of heathenism had the self-confidence 
 to believe that he could reason the best. Perhaps 
 he was right. But there was that Book. He 
 couldn’t fight a book, and yet its contents and 
 spirit were fighting him every day. 
 
 Like others who, in spite of their pride, are 
 compelled to acknowledge to themselves that 
 they are gradually losing ground, Ba Sain now 
 tried to hide his discomfiture by smoking, 
 by learning to swear in English and practising 
 
The Rewards of Labor 289 
 
 the art in the hearing of .the missionaries, and 
 by making himself generally objectionable. Con- 
 tempt was his last weakhold. His cult sadly 
 needed defending, but he had made poor work 
 at its defense. 
 
 Down by the lake, one day, he sat despond- 
 ently looking at the lap of the wavelets on the 
 pebbly shore. All at once, in that way familiar 
 to Christians who seek God, there flashed into 
 his prejudiced mind a little light. Why, these 
 people had the satisfaction that he had vainly 
 sought ! Their religion helped them to live 
 lives of peace in spite of the glaring incon- 
 sistencies of its believers. And after all, isn’t 
 that all that is worth while? Surely the truth 
 alone can beget peace. Why hadn’t he seen it 
 before? Gautama tells us how to do right, but 
 Christ helps us do it. The great gospel truths 
 which had been seeking entrance to his heart, 
 had at last found lodgment. And once entered, 
 they pervaded his whole knowledge, and suffused 
 his entire thought and life. Gautama merits. 
 Jesus saves. This is Christianity. O that he 
 had only known it before! Every 7 one would 
 accept it if they only knew. He must tell them. 
 And right there was born in his soul the saving 
 spirit that was not to pass away. Again nothing 
 mattered, but how different the feeling! 
 
 10 
 
290 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 Ba Sain was forward, and fought a good battle 
 on either side, when he was sure he was right. 
 He grasped the Bible truths with avidity, and 
 imparted as he learned. At almost one stroke 
 he stood forth a man in Christ. Rarely are seen 
 changes so complete as his. Enslaving habits 
 were dethroned ; the feasts and fasts and foolish- 
 ness of Gautama-as-he-is-worshiped lost their 
 lure; rice and curry became secondary; and he 
 boldly sought “first the kingdom.” No work 
 was too hard, no place too humble. Like Samuel, 
 he delighted to keep in order the house of God. 
 Nothing pleased him better than to lead his 
 schoolmates to Christ. Three years from the 
 time he came to us, he was preceptor in the 
 school. Rising bravely above objectionable 
 character traits within and strong opposition 
 from without, he stood, just merging into man- 
 hood, at the beginning of usefulness for God, 
 a trusted servant, an intelligent student, an 
 energetic worker, a monument to missionary 
 effort. 
 
 Then came a change, gradual at first, so that 
 we did not realize its significance till it was too 
 late to stave off the catastrophe. Perhaps we 
 were over-confident, and we, as well as he, had 
 to be taught a lesson. For our hopes centered 
 in Ba vSain as our first fruits, an example to the 
 
The Rewards of Labor 2gi 
 
 flock. Little did we think that he was to fall. 
 And when he did fall, the bottom seemed to 
 have dropped out of our effort. If Ba vSain 
 could not stand, who could? And what was 
 the use of working for them? How much we 
 had to learn in not trusting to appearances, and 
 in not judging all by one. 
 
 Without any warning, the boy suddenly dis- 
 appeared. We found that he had borrowed 
 what money he could from his associates, and 
 had gone no one knew where. In western 
 countries it is not easy for a boy to run away 
 from home and friends. Usually, after a brush 
 against the cold world, he is glad enough to 
 return. We say of the truant, “O, he’ll come 
 back.” But the world isn’t cold in Burma, 
 physically or socially. No fire is absolutely 
 necessary except to cook food, and fifty cents 
 would buy enough clothing for a year’s wear. 
 Food is cheap, and the people are hospitable. 
 It is surprising how they will take in total 
 strangers and feed them for days at a time, pass- 
 ing them on to neighbors when it gets to be an 
 old story. As a last resort the runaway may easily 
 join the priests, shave his head and don a 
 yellow robe, and through the medium of the 
 begging bowl procure a good living with little 
 effort. 
 
2g2 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 But our young student sought the friends of 
 his childhood who had became gay youths. 
 Being of good address, and with a polish and 
 education that had been given him at great 
 sacrifice, he soon secured a position as a clerk 
 in a European store at a good wage. There was 
 much idle time, and this was spent in fulfilling 
 the desires of his heart. Thanks to his training 
 and the real presence of God in his life, he did 
 not go to the limit in riotous living. But 
 misfortune came. Some of the things he had 
 bought were stolen; and the trunk containing 
 all his clothes fell off a ferry-boat into the 
 river. 
 
 All this we did not know till afterward. 
 Several months after he had disappeared he 
 came among us as suddenly and as unexpectedly 
 as he had gone. In spirit, we received him as 
 the father did the prodigal, and his heart was 
 melted. Ever since, he has called me his father, 
 and I am his father today. He made restitution 
 in every way he could; and humbly started at 
 the beginning again to win back his reputa- 
 tion. There were scars left that could not be 
 effaced; but are any lives free from them? 
 He rose higher and higher in trustworthiness, 
 and became especially noted for industry and 
 honesty. 
 
The Rewards of Labor 2Q3 
 
 A year passed, and changes were made in the 
 school. We were transferred to Rangoon, and 
 Ba Sain was bitterly disappointed at our 
 leaving. He was very jealously attached to those 
 who had brought him the light, as are all who 
 come out of darkness. Long used to visible 
 objects of worship, it is difficult for them to 
 see the invisible, and so they become devotedly 
 attached to their immediate benefactors. 
 
 He wanted to try selling the products of our 
 shoe-making department on the road ; so he 
 was sent to travel about the country and take 
 orders. He started with high hopes, and shoes 
 by parcel post were being sent on his trail 
 at a good rate. Then suddenly the orders ceased 
 coming, and he disappeared. Weeks passed, 
 and we could find no trace of him anywhere. 
 Had he failed us again? It seemed hopeless to 
 try to help him; but we clung to our faith. 
 
 One day, long after he had dropped out of our 
 knowledge, I received a letter from him at an 
 address I had never known. It told a strange 
 story. He had visited his old home in his 
 travels; and his father and older brother had 
 concocted a scheme to rescue him from the 
 clutches of Christianity, since they believed he 
 had been forced, or duped, into accepting it, 
 and had been imprisoned at the school. While 
 
2Q4 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 he slept they took away his clothes, and left 
 only the barest necessities for decency. Later 
 his brother, who was a forest guard in the 
 employ of the government, took him away off 
 into the jungle country many miles from the 
 railroad, and kept him there by force. But 
 the boy managed to communicate with me 
 through another guard he had met, who mailed 
 his letter. He wanted me to tell him what 
 to do. 
 
 I was rather non-commital in my answer, for 
 the law provides that children, even when they 
 attain considerable age, are under the control 
 of their parents and older brothers. My letter 
 might fall into the hands of the brother, and I 
 did not want to misrepresent the Christian 
 attitude. That is just what happened to the 
 letter; and the captive was placed under more 
 careful watch. 
 
 We prayed, and Ba Sain planned; and at 
 last he made his escape. With difficulty he made 
 his way to our nearest station only half clothed, 
 and there received money to pay for clothing 
 and his fare to Rangoon. This experience had a 
 sobering effect upon him, and he was more than 
 ever moved to work for God. 
 
 About this time we were opening a training 
 school at Lucknow, India, for higher students to 
 
The Rewards of Labor 
 
 295 
 
 get a final fitting for gospel work. It seemed 
 best to send Ba Sain there for the course of two 
 years. Soon reports came that he was doing 
 good work in the school, and he wrote glowing 
 letters of his joy in the work. He was allowed 
 
 The Class at Woodwork in the Industrial Building 
 
 five rupees (about $1.60) a month for doing 
 extra work, and with this he bought, one at a 
 time, most of our denominational books, and 
 read them diligently. As the period of his 
 training neared completion he gave more and 
 
296 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 more promise of becoming a successful evangel- 
 ist for his own people. 
 
 But there was something the matter with 
 Ba Sain. Perhaps he was too forward and 
 independent. He had a misunderstanding with 
 some of his superiors, and ended by going back 
 to Burma and taking a position as an office 
 worker with a commercial firm in Rangoon. 
 And there he is today. But he writes that there 
 is still something tugging at his heart, urging 
 him to give this message to his people. 
 
 In spite of his many failures, Ba Sain was 
 always an inspiration to me because of the 
 wonderful transformation that was worked by 
 God in his life. He was my first-born in Burma 
 — the firstfruit of labor. 
 
 An entirely different story is that of Peter, 
 the Karen boy. Pastor Votaw had stood forth 
 in the General Conference of 1909 and had 
 eloquently pleaded for this people in these 
 burning words: 
 
 “I must speak in terms the strongest that I 
 can command in regard to the crying need of 
 laborers to begin work among the Karens. 
 I feel sure that no yet unentered territory pre- 
 sents so strong a plea for help, and it is a ques- 
 
The Rewards of Labor 297 
 
 tion in my mind whether any call for help which 
 has been, or shall be, presented at this Con- 
 ference is deserving of more immediate con- 
 sideration than this plea. Ever since we have 
 lived in Burma, we have written and pleaded for 
 some one to come to give this glorious message 
 to the simple-minded hill folk of the mountains 
 of Burma. Possessing such traditions as they 
 do, they are peculiarly susceptible to the 
 influence of the gospel. Many have speculated 
 concerning the folklore of the Karens. Where 
 and how did they obtain it? It is jealously 
 guarded, and handed down from generation to 
 generation. In outline, if not in absolute 
 detail, it agrees with the Scriptural narrative, 
 including the account of the forming of woman 
 from the rib of man, the fall, the flood, etc. 
 ‘Because that when they knew God, they 
 glorified him not as God, ’ the knowledge of 
 their Creator was withdrawn from them, not, 
 however, without the promise being left to them 
 that the knowledge of the true God should 
 again be brought to these whom he had tempo- 
 rarily east off. ‘White foreigners,’ coming in 
 ships, were to be the bearers of the good tidings. 
 Those who have not yet accepted Christianity 
 represent their present condition by the follow- 
 ing illustration: A father and his children were 
 
2q8 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 traversing a narrow foot-path on the moun- 
 tain-side. At a convenient place on a ledge of 
 rock the father left his children while he went 
 elsewhere. A tiger was seen approaching. 
 vSeized by fear, the children, to save them- 
 selves, east a pig over the cliff to the approach- 
 ing tiger. ‘Thus,’ they say, ‘we sacrifice to 
 the demons only because we fear them, not that 
 we would worship them.’ 
 
 “Already thousands have turned to Christi- 
 anity, and it is not strange, since they have 
 such a favorable predilection for the gospel. 
 The Baptists claim some 40,000 communi- 
 cants among them, I am told. Other missions 
 also have flourishing congregations. They make 
 excellent Christians, and the change for good 
 which Christianity has made, and is making, 
 in them is witnessed to in emphatic terms by all 
 who are in a position to speak intelligently. 
 
 “The Karens number about three-quarters of 
 a million, and are divided into three main 
 tribes. They live almost entirely in the hills, 
 or in the low land immediately adjacent. Who- 
 ever begins work for these people must expect 
 hard work, for it is difficult to visit their moun- 
 tain villages; but surely the results will pay 
 abundantly. O that God might lay upon some 
 strong men and women the burden of this work ! 
 
The Rewards of Labor 
 
 299 
 
 Who will become the apostle of this great 
 message to these hungry souls? Would it not 
 be worth more, far more, than the sacrifice it 
 demands to be able to stand with the redeemed 
 of this people on the sea of glass and join 
 with them in the song of Moses and the Lamb I* 
 My soul has been burdened as I think of the 
 Karens still waiting for the truth. I have 
 promised before God that I will leave nothing 
 that lies in my power undone in my efforts to 
 secure some one to begin this work.” 
 
 The first one to answer this call came a year 
 later, in the person of Miss Mary Gibbs, from 
 Kansas (now Mrs. DeNoyer, and still an ardent 
 apostle to the Karens). She mastered their 
 language in a little time; but was unable to get 
 out among them alone in their inaccessible hills. 
 But there were other ways. While taking a 
 rest in a hill station she became acquainted 
 with some neighboring Karens, and persuaded 
 three boys to attend our school, which was 
 just starting. Strong inducements had to be 
 offered, for the hill-born love their hills. They 
 had been given Christian names, — Peter, John, 
 and Tom. Hardy fellows in their teens, they 
 walked thirty miles to the railway — which 
 wonder they had never seen before — and ar- 
 rived the following day at the school. They 
 
300 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 proved to be good workers, all three, Peter 
 starting to learn carpentry, John shoemaking, 
 and Tom cane-work. A Karen boy has work 
 
 The Meiktila School Group in Late Years 
 
 in his bones. He couldn’t coax a crop out of 
 the thin soil of his narrow valleys and steep 
 hillsides if he had not. Besides being industri- 
 ous and steady, they were fast becoming skillful. 
 
 But those home hills were in sight from the 
 school. Their blue retreats looked so cool on 
 the hot days. They are so hard for even the 
 native of the plains to resist. The boys wanted to 
 
The Rewards of Labor 
 
 301 
 
 go home for a visit, promising to come back. 
 We permitted them to go with some hesitancy, 
 for we did want to get a start among the Karens, 
 and the youth are the hope of the people. But 
 our worst fears were not realized. In a few 
 days Peter returned — but all alone. He was 
 the only one who didn’t peter. Although mis- 
 named, he is a plodder, and says little. Some- 
 thing stronger than the beauty of his childhood 
 haunts drew him to us. I can’t explain it, only 
 that it was the same drawing power that con- 
 strained us to go more than half way to meet 
 him. 
 
 Peter was, and is, an unromantic hero; but he 
 is one of the elect. He was baptized, for there 
 was no better way, now that he knew the truth. 
 He toiled through many difficulties, for he had 
 the Burmese to learn as well as all his studies, 
 including English. He won by sticking. Then 
 be became a missionary in turn. Again he went 
 home for a few weeks, and when he returned 
 he brought three other Karen boys with him. 
 So they were preparing for a great after-work 
 among their people. 
 
 In the meantime, G. A. Hamilton and his 
 family had come from California to give them- 
 selves to the Karens. As the way opened, a 
 station was established at Kamamaung, sixty 
 
302 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 miles up the Salween River from Maulmain. 
 It is a splendid location on a promontory over- 
 looking the wide sweep of the river. Though 
 it is in a wild country, where the barking deer 
 are heard, and signs of tigers, elephants, wild 
 boars, and snakes are abundant, yet it is in the 
 midst of the Karen people. The jungle was 
 cleared, and as money came a mission home was 
 erected. Miss Gibbs joined the family, and 
 soon a little dispensary took form. Being a 
 very efficient nurse, she was in her element. 
 This was the entering wedge; for the people 
 were very shy. But physical pain and sickness 
 seek friends. They carried the sick and injured 
 to her from many miles around. Every day 
 brought its novel and interesting experiences. 
 The young people in a home conference raised 
 money to buy a motor launch for use on the 
 river and creeks, and soon it was chugging away 
 to remote villages on errands of relief. 
 
 When the station was well established, Eric 
 Hare and his wife from Australia took charge, 
 and the Hamiltons and Miss Gibbs moved on to 
 other fields. Then came the problem of a 
 school. It was hard to get the parents to see 
 much light in making a sacrifice to educate their 
 children; but there was a possibility of a few 
 pupils, and a start must be made. And Peter 
 
The Rewards of Labor 
 
 303 
 
 was ready. Hadn’t he been preparing all these 
 years for just such an opportunity. He was 
 called to Kamamaung. Marrying a good 
 little wife from among the people there, he 
 started in to educate their children and win 
 their hearts. He is succeeding at both. 
 
 And this isn’t all the story'. That John, 
 who went home and stayed there, acted later 
 just like another John, whose surname was 
 Mark. You will remember that Mark turned 
 back from Paul and Barnabas because of the 
 hardness of the way ; but afterward Paul says he 
 was profitable to him for the gospel. So John, 
 the Karen, afterward repented and went back to 
 the school at Meiktila. He got a good training 
 and now has joined Peter at Kamamaung. 
 Peter and John, — a good combination. There 
 is a glorious work before them for their kinsmen 
 in the flesh. 
 
 Space fails to tell of others who shine as 
 rewards of labor. These are average cases met 
 by the missionary. Nothing wonderful, the 
 way the world counts wonderful things, but so 
 satisfactory as monuments of grace. 
 
 And we would not forget that these same 
 boys were able to stay in school during the years 
 of their training through the steady gifts of a 
 few faithful souls in America, who sent money 
 
J 04 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 regularly every month for their support. One 
 of these benefactors earned her gifts, and her 
 own living, by sewing. Our boys are fast 
 friends of these faraway home missionaries 
 whom they have never seen ; and I do not 
 believe heaven will present any happier scene 
 than will be afforded in the meeting together 
 of these globe-separated friends when missions 
 
 are no more. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE WAY OUT 
 
 I N THE land of pagodas, and in all lands, the 
 only way out of the task of missions is 
 straight through. And as to the way 
 through, see a picture of the light-keeper. 
 
 He was a little wizened old man, and he sat 
 there on the smooth stone pavement with his 
 knees at his chin and his arms folded across 
 them. With only a rough loin cloth and a thin 
 armless shirt for garments, his one touch of 
 color was a wisp of silk jauntily draped over his 
 mop of black hair. He had a vigil to keep and 
 he was keeping it. His only movements were a 
 rolling of his wad of kun from cheek to cheek, 
 and the roving of his dark eyes from the candles 
 to the throng and back again to the candles. 
 
 The great pagoda rose high above him into the 
 sultry tropic night, its pinnacled top seeming to 
 swim in the semidarkness. Up there the little 
 silver bells that fringed the golden htee jingled 
 lightly in the gentle stir of a breeze. Below was 
 a jargon of noise, and light— blinding, dazzling 
 
 305 
 
Where the Little Old Man Kept His Lights Burning 
 
 306 
 
The Way Out 
 
 307 
 
 light. For the joyous light feast was on, and 
 the famous Shwe Dagon was receiving its 
 pilgrims by the tens of thousands. The shrine- 
 cluttered hilltop resounded to myriads of merry 
 voices, the thump-thump of drums, and the 
 booming of deep-toned bells. Innumerable 
 calloused feet tramped over the slippery flags 
 and trampled on one another at the choked 
 stairways. Round and round the consecrated 
 circle the mincing and gaudy processions wound 
 their way amid the blare of bands and the glare 
 of lights. But through it all the little man sat 
 there, while his eyes roved from the candles 
 to the throng and back again to the candles. 
 
 Gayety and laughter were the order of the 
 evening. Weird and riotous music bade the 
 dancing girls be nimble; and puppet shows drew 
 a thousand eyes. Demure maidens in gorgeous 
 silks went sliding by on their pretty slippers, 
 the bunches of fragrant flowers tucked into 
 their hair delighting the nostrils of the loitering 
 crowds. Even the beggars reveled on this 
 night of nights, for Liberality and Prodigality 
 walked abroad, and Burma was rollicking with 
 joy. Still the little man sat there, and still 
 his eyes roved from the candles to the throng 
 and back again to the candles. 
 
 His tiny lights were set close together all the 
 
jo8 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 way around the lower edge of his family shrine, 
 built and dedicated with great ceremony in his 
 boyhood. A signal honor this, to be permitted a 
 place at the great Shwe Dagon for the ancestral 
 devotions. The flickering flames must be kept 
 alight to do homage to the beneficent Lord 
 Gautama of long ago. 
 
 A fitful gust fanned a few of the diminutive 
 lights to more rapid consumption; and at last 
 the watcher rose, selected a few fresh candles 
 from a pile at his feet, lighted each one from the 
 expiring flame of its predecessor, and pressed 
 it into place on the dying ember of the other. 
 Then, returning to his place, the former position 
 was resumed, and the alert eyes took up again 
 their roving from the candles to the throng 
 and back again to the candles. 
 
 Hour after hour through the long night the 
 vigil was kept. The crowds thinned and 
 dwindled slowly away. The music died to an 
 occasional drumming, and the big gas-lights were 
 dimmed. Coolies drowsed in the corners; and 
 the stairway yawned for lingering devotees. 
 Dawn showed gray in the east, and soon a 
 shaft of day caught the tip of the golden htee 
 far overhead. Slowly the little ring of flame 
 paled to a sickly hue in the rising glory of the sun ; 
 but morning found the little old man unchanged, 
 
The Way Out 
 
 309 
 
 while his eyes roved from the candles to the dawn 
 and back again to the candles. 
 
 Devoted religious fervor — devoted persist- 
 ently, though hopelessly, to “the light of 
 Asia,” the light that fails. Yet devoted to a 
 degree that points the way for the keepers of 
 the “Light of the world.” 
 
 Then keep the mission lights burning, and 
 light the way to the end of the task. 
 
 Now hear the parable of a treasure in a field. 
 
 One day long ago a poor Burmese rice-grower 
 was splashing back and forth and round and 
 round after his slow bullocks and crude plow. 
 His little plot was leased from the village head- 
 man, and the hire of the ground was so high that 
 he barely managed to supply rice and curry 
 for his family twice a day throughout the year. 
 He looked at the future through hopeless eyes, 
 and struggled on, getting less out of life than 
 the beasts he drove. 
 
 On a raised spot at one corner of his field 
 lay the remains of a small pagoda. No one 
 knew who had built it. No one had repaired 
 its decay. From a trim little whitewashed 
 spire it had crumbled to a mound of mossy 
 bricks, with just one side of its once proud 
 uprightness remaining in air. For years our 
 hardy farmer had looked longingly at the ground 
 
3io 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 it occupied, for he needed every inch for culti- 
 vation. And, acting on the spirit of his desire, 
 his willing plow had cut a little into the founda- 
 tions whenever it came near, until today the 
 very support of the structure itself was threat- 
 ened. 
 
 He stopped the bullocks for a rest, and they 
 brushed against the pile and began to pull 
 at the succulent weeds at its base. An uprooted 
 grass tuft started some earth falling, followed 
 by dusty old bricks; and man and beasts were 
 just able to get out of the way before the 
 ancient pile toppled over. And there, uncovered, 
 was an opening into a little hollow place. Only 
 a moment the man hesitated ; and then he began 
 to tear away the bricks and to reach below; for 
 were not treasures sometimes hidden beneath 
 pagodas? The very fear of the people to dis- 
 turb a shrine made it a safe hiding place for a 
 miser’s treasure. 
 
 In a few minutes his feverish search was re- 
 warded; a box, containing handfuls of blood- 
 red rubies, and jade, and old coins, and a 
 rotting bag of gold ornaments. He was rich 
 at last. Oh, the ecstasy of it! He gloated 
 over the great find in a delirium of joy. But 
 no, the treasure was not his, because the field 
 was not his. The thought came like a cloud 
 
The Way Out 
 
 3ii 
 
 to darken the golden prospects. Yet there was 
 no one near. Replacing the box and covering 
 it with debris he left his munching bullocks and 
 ran for home, formulating a plan as he went. 
 
 The faithful wife shared his secret and her 
 business instinct perfected the plan. They 
 could not hope to buy a small part of the field, 
 for owners will not break up their possessions; 
 and besides, it would arouse suspicion. How 
 natural for them to buy the ground they had 
 cultivated so long. But, the price! It was 
 sure to be far beyond their slender resources. 
 Yet they must have that field to get the trea- 
 sure. They tried in vain to borrow; and then 
 began to sell. First went the bullocks and plow 
 and cart; then the seed-rice, and all extra cloth- 
 ing they had. But they did not come near 
 getting enough. Next the little house and all it 
 contained went to swell the sum ; and they built 
 a mat booth for a home. The man was called a 
 lunatic by his neighbors; and, while they had 
 no sympathy for him, they pitied his poor 
 family. 
 
 Yet the value of the land was still beyond 
 what they could rake and scrape, and they 
 were in despair. Then a last desperate method 
 to get money suggested itself — so cruel, so 
 hazardous, that few T would risk it. But it was 
 
312 
 
 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 possible, and they decided to make the attempt. 
 It was nothing less then to sell themselves in 
 order to buy that field. The treasure once theirs 
 they could buy back all they had sold, and more. 
 With tears streaming down their faces they 
 parted with their children for a goodly sum, 
 paid by a rich neighbor in lieu of the life-long 
 services of the promising little ones. There 
 was every chance that something might happen 
 so that the fortune would yet slip their grasp 
 and they would be unable to pay the increased 
 price that the purchasers would be sure to 
 ask for a redemption of all they had sold. But 
 there was no going back now. The required 
 amount still not reached, the plunging man 
 sold his wife into servitude; and, putting his 
 affairs into the hands of a trusted friend, as a 
 last surrender, he sold himself. There was no 
 other source of revenue. But the purchase 
 price was reached. His friend secured the 
 field, with a clear title to all that pertained to it, 
 and unearthed the treasure. 
 
 And lo, what a transformation! Exultingly 
 the now wealthy farmer went from place to 
 place and redeemed at handsome prices all he 
 had sold. Their wealth and joy henceforth 
 was untold ; and when the villagers learned 
 how he had become rich, they called him “the 
 wise.” 
 

 Robert A. Beckner and His Wife, Successful Missionaries to Burma 
 
 313 
 
J14 In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 It will* take our all to buy the field, but 
 when our all is paid the field will be bought. 
 
 And see, in the way the gospel of the kingdom 
 is now going, a prophecy of how it will be 
 finished in the earth. 
 
 A trained missionary and his wife established 
 a station at a strategic point in a language 
 area of a heathen country. They had a full 
 realization that their message must be pro- 
 claimed in this generation. They knew three 
 facts that made their task plain; First: that 
 all the people in their section of the world 
 would not be converted to their belief; for the 
 gospel of the kingdom is to go as a witness only. 
 Second: that the gospel would not continue 
 to be witnessed at the same rate it has gone 
 for the last hundred years; for God will cut it 
 short at the end, and he will do a quick work. 
 Third: it would not be necessary for them to 
 go to every individual in their area, for their 
 efforts would be multiplied by native helpers; 
 and events would drive many people to come 
 to them. 
 
 Yet the greatness of the task staggered them 
 with its magnitude. However, with firm faith 
 in God’s power to accomplish the seeming 
 impossible, they settled down and began at 
 the beginning. And that beginning was a home 
 
The Way Out 
 
 3i5 
 
 established, a family altar set up, and friendly 
 relations formed with the neighbors. Then 
 they attacked the language. The best part of 
 every day for a year was given to gaining facility 
 in the vernacular ; and as they learned they 
 interpreted their hope into the words of those 
 who lived near by. In time the community 
 found that they had come to stay, to stay to do 
 good, and to stay to do good for others. 
 
 They started a Sabbath school, though at 
 first they taught only each other; they started 
 a day school, though it began with a few children 
 clustered about the teachers’ knees; they started 
 a dispensary, though it consisted at first of 
 only a few bottles of simple remedies and 
 a pail and cloths ; they started a publishing work 
 by translating a single leaflet and having it 
 printed at a native press. However primitive, 
 every agency of successful gospel propagation 
 was begun. And soon all grew. 
 
 The missionaries came into contact with thou- 
 sands of natives in the course of a few years’ 
 work; yet seemed to make but little impression 
 on the great majority of them. But a few able 
 men were won and trained to work, and they 
 in turn were able to establish out-stations and 
 extend the influence of the leaders. The mis- 
 sionaries sought to impress every heart they 
 
A Group of Missionaries and Their Native Helpers at an Annual Gathering in Rangoon 
 
The Way Out 
 
 317 
 
 touched with a few simple facts; that Jesus 
 saves men from sin, and is soon to come to this 
 earth; that the Bible is the guide book to 
 heaven, and that it foretells certain world 
 events which will be signs of .the near approach 
 of Christ. Hundreds came and went, children 
 attended school and passed on, scores were 
 helped physically and scattered to the four 
 winds; and very few forgot the words of truth 
 dropped by the missionaries. 
 
 Then the Great War struck the world like a 
 flash of lightning. The news of the awful con- 
 flict spread to the remote corners of the globe. 
 It is remarkable how quickly news flies from 
 mouth to mouth among peoples who have no 
 railroads, telegraphs, telephones, newspapers, 
 nor any other rapid means of communication. 
 Around the camp-fires of savages, about the 
 rice-pots of ignorant toilers, in the little markets 
 of far-off villages, in the councils of heathen 
 fathers, rose the inevitable question, “What 
 does it all mean?” And always coupled with 
 this came the other question, “What is coming 
 next?” Then in many a center rose up a man 
 or a boy who had heard the wondrous story 
 that echoed every day at the mission station; 
 and he would tell the little he knew,— just 
 enough to whet the desires of the people for more. 
 
In the Land of Pagodas 
 
 3 1* 
 
 vSoon from many quarters messages and 
 messengers began coming in to the gospel 
 center asking for answers to the great question 
 that was on the lips of all, “What next?” 
 And the faithful missionaries gave the answer in 
 printed form to every comer, instructed the 
 inquirers, and thanked God that their message, 
 though unpopular, was as inseparably connected 
 with world events, which are popular, as a 
 vital answer is connected with a burning ques- 
 tion. Wherever the question rose the answer 
 was forthcoming, and far and wide went the 
 stirring message of impending catastrophe to 
 a world of wickedness, and glorious deliverance 
 for the people of the true God. 
 
 When such stations are established and main- 
 tained in every language area on earth, and the 
 warring nations gasp in the last throes of 
 strife, then the Spirit of God will move upon 
 whosoever will to seek him for salvation, 
 the missionaries will be ready to bear witness, 
 “and then shall the end come.’’^ 
 
 THE End 
 

DATE DUE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 GAYLORD 
 
 
 
 PRINTED IN USA