Ralph Denham's Adventures in Burma: A Tale of the Burmese Jungle Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII

  KIRKE ESCAPES

  Kirke's jealousy of Ralph Denham had dated from the earliestcommencement of their ill-fated voyage; and Ralph had not been asway-wise as an older person might have wished him to be in avoidingoccasions for arousing it. His own dislike to Kirke's character; hisscarcely concealed contempt of him for throwing away the chances in lifewhich he himself longed so ardently to possess; the notice taken of himby Mr. Gilchrist, and of which he was so proud,--all tended to inflameKirke's ill-will towards him.

  Ralph had tried, unavailingly but persistently, to draw little Jacksonfrom his influence, and Jackson's services were useful to Kirke.

  The two old Cornish seamen kept aloof from the elder apprentice, and didmany little things for their countryman, as they regarded Denham; andKershaw, just a trifle older and higher in the service than Kirke, tookto Denham, laughed and joked with him, sought his society, and made ofhim a companion.

  Kirke felt his seclusion, and resented it upon Denham. Such feelingsfeed upon themselves, and grow apace.

  Little Jackson's sudden death was a shock; and, somewhat softened atheart, though too proud to confess to the fact, Kirke would have beenglad of comfort and sympathy Ralph had no idea of this, but, repulsedon his first evidence of kindly feeling, made no further attempt atconsolation; and Kirke, in his loneliness, raged the more bitterly insecret because Denham had not found out that he wanted him.

  So one thing acted and reacted upon another, and culminated upon theunhappy night in the boats.

  Envying Ralph's pluck and heroism, admiring him for it; emulous of theircomrades' appreciation of his gallant daring, he yet could not bringhimself to imitate it, for he felt so afraid to die,--he dreaded soterribly what came after death, which he considered certain upon thatraft.

  He knew that he was not fit to die,--his whole ill-spent life rose up,in one instant, with awful clearness before his mental vision, and hedared not face its consequences. He believed in spite of himself, andhis faith brought him nothing but fear.

  He hung back, and then resented the plainly-expressed scorn of Kershawand the sailors. Mellish, with the authority of captain delegated tohim, stopped their taunts with a high hand, but was powerless to alterthe expression of contempt upon their faces. Accustomed through all hisearly life to the surface respect paid to him as a gentleman's son, hecould not bear the lack of deference now displayed by the men whom heregarded as his inferiors; and, when the watch was changed, and Kershawyielded to him the tiller, saying, "Here, take the ropes, I suppose youaren't afraid of _them_," the climax was reached.

  Half-frenzied with pride, anger, jealousy and fear, he drew out hisknife, severed the rope without thought of anyone but his rival, saw inone flash that he had practically murdered six helpless and inoffensivefellow-creatures, and remorse seized him for a prey instantaneously.

  No one in the boat suspected him, it was supposed that the rope wasweak or rotten, and gave of itself from the strain upon it. A sharkmight have bitten it; no one knew what had happened exactly. Kirke, inhorror at his own deed, called upon the others in the boat to turn herhead, to row back, to search for the raft.

  His agitation, the frantic energy with which he worked, redeemed himsomewhat in his shipmates' eyes, but may have caused him to steerunequally, injudiciously, wide of his mark. However it happened, theycould find no trace of the raft, and, though they did for a time hearthe voices of the castaways raised on the breeze, the direction of thewind made their whereabouts uncertain, and the sound gradually ceasedaltogether.

  Did that mean that they were gone? Drowned? Fled before God'sjudgment-seat, to be for ever witnesses against him? God knew that hedid not mean this! But would He pardon?--could He pardon?

  Still did the unhappy wretch maintain a sullen silence as to his deed.He could not confess, and those around him were kinder to him thanusual, perceiving his sorrow, but ignorant as to its source.

  Next day they were picked up by the steamer, and carried on to theAndamans. Everyone at Port Blair was kind to them, but the word "murder"seemed to be on the air.

  "What! are you a convict?" someone would ask of butler, washerwoman,syce, coxswain or coolie. "What are you in for?"

  "Murder, Thakin" (Englishman, sir), would be the calm reply, with apolite gesture and fascinating smile.

  The convicts seemed to think no more of such a crime than of crushingheaps of cockroaches. Oh, that he could be equally dense!

  They were detained at Port Blair but a very short time, when they oncemore embarked for Moulmein. Upon nearing the port, the first figurewhich he descried among the groups on shore was that of Mr. Gilchrist.He stared as if he had seen a ghost,--but it was an avenging spectre.Within the first five minutes of their landing, Mr. Gilchrist accusedhim of the crime of cutting the raft adrift; all shrank from him withdetestation, no one stood forth to say "I do not believe the charge."

  Wills and Osborn confirmed Mr. Gilchrist's accusation; the two ordinaryseamen, Price and Simpson, gave testimony against him; even Ralph, uponwhose forgiving nature he fastened hope, said, "Oh, Kirke, how could youhave done such a thing!"

  He was put into the police guardroom, and a watch set over him.

  What could be done to him he had no idea, and imagination played strangepranks with his fears. Should he be sent back to England, in irons, tobe tried there, where his father would be broken-hearted, his sistersdisgraced; where all would appear in the papers; and, whatever theevent, he could never hold up his head again?

  Would they send him back to the Andamans, to herd with those half-savageconvicts, mutineers from Delhi, the scum of Rangoon?

  Would they shoot him, or hang him, or flog him?

  Image after image of terror succeeded each other, while the guardgossipped, laughed, and dozed. These men were careless of their charge.Where should a European go if he did escape? They paid little heed tohim, and he began to perceive that escape was possible.

  Where he should go troubled him not; how he should live, how travel,without knowledge or help, in an unknown country where his European facewould make him a marked man. He had some vague misty idea of ruby mines;and, in his ignorance, supposed these to be scattered about all overthe country. That rubies were to be picked up by anyone, as nuggets hadbeen streamed out of the sand in Ballarat by the earliest adventurers,was a fixed notion of his. He would make his way to such a place, losehis identity among the rough miners, find some splendid jewels, make hisway to some other port a rich man, and return to England to lead abetter life.

  Opportunity presented itself at last. It was the feast of the"Tawadehutha," the most joyous of all the Burmese festivals.

  Feasting and merriment lasted for three days, and holiday was observedeverywhere. Even the Commissioner was forced to keep business inabeyance, and leave Kirke in his easy durance; perhaps the morewillingly as, his offence being so unusual a one, and his family knownto be so respectable in England, that gentleman himself was inperplexity as to what course he ought to pursue.

  So in the guardroom the offender remained, under the care of the Burmeseguard, who cared nothing for his crime, though they were afraid ofdispleasing the Commissioner.

  It was hard upon them that they should not be allowed to take part inthe jollity which they would have enjoyed so greatly, and their blackscowls and grumbling tones were comprehended by Kirke, although theiractual words were not understood.

  The festival was a religious one, and the _raison d'etre_ was that ofpresenting gifts to the various pagodas, of which there are so many inall parts of Burma.

  It is regarded as a highly meritorious thing to build a pagoda, althoughthe erection is practically of no use. It is not a church, or temple, inwhich religious services of prayer or praise are held, or any charitablework carried on. Their very structure forbids that, for they are solidblocks of masonry, upon which graceful cupolas and spires are erected,painted, gilt, and decorated with many bells. These bells are gifts, andare sometimes very costly, formed from pure gold
or silver, and set withjewels.

  It is good for the soul to present these gifts; but any repairs done tothe building as it suffers from age or weather, counts to the merit ofthe original constructor alone. Therefore, when any rich Burmese wishesto make his salvation secure, he builds a new pagoda, large or small,all by himself,--he does not care for another person's eternal welfare.Let every man look out for himself in the kingdom of the "nats."

  But gifts are another matter, _they_ are offered to the priests, andmake plenty of show both in this world and the next; so the pagodafestival is a particularly brilliant affair, and a very picturesque one.

  Long processions streamed through the street, attended by boys and girlsdancing, and bearing in their midst long bamboo poles decorated withspires covered with tinsel paper, gilt balls, and all manner of toys,which gave them the air of gigantic Christmas trees.

  Some bore aloft pasteboard images of "nats," or beatified spirits, whobring good luck to men, acting as guardian angels. Some carried huge,frightful representations of "beloos," or demons, who must bealternately conciliated and treated with every indignity to frightenthem away.

  Kirke's guard rushed out to exclaim at each fresh group that troopedpast the guardhouse. Many an "Ameh!" was ejaculated, and this one wasadmired, that one despised;--now great delight was manifested, thencontempt expressed in voluble jabber, and with no reference to theirprisoner.

  He cared for none of these exhibitions, so childish in his eyes--whichwere fatigued by the glare and noise.

  White umbrellas, decorated with frills of paper lace; gold umbrellas;long bamboos, gilt or silvered; the constant stream of gay movingfigures; the flash of tinsel in the sun; the beating of drums, carriedin carts whose wheels creaked and groaned in unison; the clashing ofbells great and small; the songs and cries of the thousands ofpeople,--all wearied and oppressed his brain almost beyond endurance.The screams of delight which the guard constantly uttered, ran throughhis ears with great distress; and then the climax arrived, in the sightof a huge "silver tree," attended by prancing hobby-horses, and from thetrembling boughs of which hundreds of rupees hung quivering, eachwrapped in coloured tinsel paper, and followed by the inhabitants of thewhole country village which had furnished it, and who danced like madaround it to the music (?) of their own voices.

  Kirke could bear no more; hoping to be left alone for a little while, heproduced such silver as he had in his pocket, and presented it to theguard, who seized it with delighted gratitude, and rushed out in vastexcitement to expend it in pickled tea, leh-pet, cheroots, andsweetmeats of strange fashion.

  They offered some on their return to their benefactor, all their sourlooks changed into smiles, but he shook his head and motioned to them toleave him alone.

  Surprised and compassionate, they seated themselves on their haunchesoutside the door in the verandah, and gabbled and feasted happily whilewatching the constantly passing crowds.

  A pasteboard cow is drawn by oxen in the midst of richly and gaudilydressed people; a cart bearing a huge gilded pot in which the milksacred to Guadama is to be cooked; a gorgeously-attired maiden, ladenwith jewels, represents the milkmaid; still more and more crowds yet;more drums, more bells, more songs, more cries, more colour and noiseand flashing lights, more beloos, more nats, more hobby-horses.

  Night fell, and the revel was still maintained. Torches and fires cast astrange and lurid light over the motley scene.

  What is this terrible figure advancing? A huge snow-white serpent, ahundred feet long, fierce fiery red eyes glaring from out the voluminouscoils of its luminous body, as it writhes on its slow onward course inpursuance of a great rolling ball of light.

  The Burmese excitement could stand no more. Springing from their heels,they rushed down from the verandah to greet the apparition with danceand shout like the rest. They ran, shrieking with admiration, along withthe multitude, and Kirke was left alone.

  It was an opportunity not to be missed. All Moulmein and the countryside about it were in the streets, his figure would be unnoticed amongthe rest; he arose hastily, and ran out from the guardhouse into thetown, where the brilliancy of lights in some parts made the obscuritydeeper than ever in others.

  No one observed him, no one spoke to him; he hastened along at hisgreatest speed, at first mixing with the people, then choosing thequieter places, fearing lest any English should see him and recognisehim. Everyone was, however, attracted by the gay sights around; theEnglish residents were chiefly in their own bungalows, watching theprocessions from their own verandahs, and distributing gifts as thevarious groups paused before each house to display themselves. No onethought of him, and he stole along in the darkness out into the vastmisty unknown country beyond the town, unperceived.

  When the processions had all reached the great pagoda; when the mysteryplay was over; when the old legend of Guadama being nourished by thesacred milk was acted out; when all were tired, the lights out, thecrowds dispersed, the fun over,--the guards bethought them of theirtrust, and returned to take it up again.

  In dismay unutterable they found their bird was flown, nor could he befound anywhere. In great alarm they made up the best story they couldfor the Commissioner's ears; and, to their wonder, found him strangelylenient to their misdemeanour. In truth, the great man was thus relievedfrom a dilemma; he pretended as much wrath as the carelessness of theguard deserved, but was almost grateful to them in his heart.

  A search was instituted for the prisoner; but not very vigorouslyprosecuted, and soon abandoned when no signs of him could bediscovered.