CHAPTER XXV.

THE BURMESE ARMY.

THE Burmese army is not thought very much of even by the most patriotic Burman who has seen soldiers in other parts of the world. Malignant people call it a rabble; more smooth-tongued and favourably-disposed critics are fain to acknowledge that it is deficient in discipline. In physique and courage the men are formidable enough, but flintlocks and long Enfields do not avail much against the breechloader, and when complete inability to manœuvre is added to this, it is evident that even in jungle warfare, except against an equally ill-armed foe, king Theebaw's forces would make but a sorry show. Military instruction of a certain kind they have, but it never extends beyond squad drill, and even this is but very perfunctorily learned, while movements of large bodies of men are never attempted, except the so-called reviews, which take place every now and again, and in 1879 were held within a day or two either way at the full moon of every month. These "reviews" are, however, nothing more than marches out on a big scale, and are only useful as a means of displaying the soldier in the glory of his uniform, and giving him a little exercise. Except on these occasions, indeed, it is seldom that you see the soldiery in military

dress. Even when on guard they dispense with every article of warlike attire, except the gun, and even that is more frequently to be found in the rack than in the sentry's hands. These military promenades, therefore, offer the most favourable opportunity of observing the royal levies.

The troops muster at an early hour in the wide glacis between the inner and outer stockades of the palace. There they fall in, in a formation of fours, and remain placidly waiting; conversation goes on freely, and smoking and chewing betel are not interfered with. The boh-gyee and other officers of rank meanwhile assemble within the inner court. After, perhaps, three or four hours' waiting, the king comes out and inspects the forces through a fieldglass from the head of the broad flight of steps in front of the Hall of Audience, or, perhaps, a notice is sent out that his majesty will not even view his troops in this easy fashion, and the army is saved from the-to English notions-exceedingly unchivalrous attitude of grovelling on its stomach for a matter of two minutes while the king looks through his binocular.

This over, the non-commissioned officers say hé, and the men slope arms and start off anyhow. Outside the eastern gate a halt is made while the boh-gyees, colonels of regiments, mount their elephants, get into position, and marshal their body-guards round about them. The lesser bohs and thway-thouk-gyees, "great blood drinkers," are mounted on ponies and have their personal retainers about them too. The commanding officer comes at the head of his regiment, preceded by twenty pages carrying doublebarrelled smooth-bores in red cloth covers. These pages

are all dressed alike, according to the individual taste of the commander, in uniform turbans, tunic, and pasoh. The livery of the young Kachin colonel of the Fourth Regiment, is the most effective-red-flowered turbans,

French grey jackets, and red pasohs of the wavy “dog's tooth" pattern. The colonel of the Third Regiment, on the other hand, revels in bilious contrasts-pea-green goungboungs, flowing red tunics, and yellow waistcloths of what a 'Varsity tradesman would call a neat quiet plaid pattern. This body-guard walks at either side of the road in loose Indian file to see that the way is clear. The boh himself rides an elephant, gorgeously caparisoned, with tassels and streamers trailing to the ground from the velvet-covered howdah. He is dressed in the national turban and pasoh, but wears a tight-fitting tunic, covered with gold lace. All of them are either smoking or chewing betel. Behind the elephant comes the umbrella-bearer, or, perhaps, two or three of them if the officer has attained such distinction.

The actual commander of the regiment seldom comes out to the review, so that there are comparatively few gold umbrellas, but the red and green ones with deep fringes add perhaps more to the brilliance of the array, considered simply as a spectacle. Behind the htee-bearers come the minor officers, mounted on ponies, with the ordinary Burmese scarlet cloth saddle and tassels sweeping over the animal's flanks. Each of these minor chiefs also has his umbrella borne over his head, and a score or two of spearmen guard the flanks of the cavalcade. Mingled up among them is a confused crowd of cheroot-bearers, spittoonholders, betel-box carriers, and similar functionaries such as accompany a Burmese grandee wherever he goes. Behind this motley assemblage come the regimental colours. These are bifurcated, red pennants, bearing the number of the battalion, and leogryphs, lions, dogs, dragons, and similar distinguishing emblems for the different regiments. The standard is not very ponderous, but occasionally the bearer-he is not an officer-gets tired of carrying it over his shoulder and lowers it to the

trail without seeming to injure any one's sense of congruity. He is followed by the band, or a portion of it, for the musicians are scattered in twos and threes all over the regiment, usually at the head of a company, but not by any means necessarily so. Burmese music is ordinarily far from soft and gentle. At a play, the trumpets blare, and the gongs, cymbals and clappers, clash and jingle and rattle in truly inspiriting fashion. But no such spiritstirring strains are considered necessary to rouse martial ardour. A military bandsman requires no preliminary education, All he has to do is to tap, tap away in the most stolid and monotonous fashion on a chee-noung. This is a brass, or bell-metal gong, about the size of a desert plate with a small round boss in the centre. The sound is sweet, and they are pitched in different keys, but a low-country Burman is at a loss to divine their precise use. The sound does not travel far, and they are not beaten in any fixed time, besides that the a-hmoo-dan would not step to it if they were; so that if it were not for the dignity of the thing, there might just as well be no band at all. But there they are, and they jingle away and stop and begin again in the most casual and independent possible way.

Now at last we get a sight of the a-hmoo-dan, King Theebaw's army of "immortals" in full array. It is not a pleasant sight for one who does not care to see his fellow-countrymen ridiculous. It is just possible to make out that they are marching in column. Here and there is a ragged resemblance to an alignment of fours, achieved for a few minutes apparently more by chance than anything else. The soldiers are very gorgeous. Peony roses and sunflowers are as nothing to them. All have red tunics, but the facings, which are broad, are different in each regiment. Some are yellow, some green, some blue, some nondescript,

and the effect on the red ground is not always pleasing. The trousers are very various. Blue, with a broad yellow stripe down the side, or occasionally for the sake of variety down the front, or the back; green and red; yellow and maroon; scarlet and brown; are a few of the combinations. On their heads are worn helmets with burnished spikes, and a small metal dragon in front. These helmets do not suit at all with long hair. The top-knot of a good many is so large that the pickelhaube balances on it, and wobbles about in undignified fashion.

The majority however find that the most satisfactory way of avoiding this is to put the helmet on the back of the head, which imparts to them a dissipated appearance which is far from martial looking. Not a few find the difference in weight between their ordinary silk turban and a papier mâché, or plaited wicker helmet, more than they can bear, and solve the difficulty by carrying their headpiece on the end of their carbines. This meets with no remonstrance or opposition on the part of the non-commissioned officers, who, armed with spears, march at irregular intervals along the flanks of the column. The soldiers have no belts, and therefore no scabbards, and proceed with bayonets fixed. The third regiment, commanded by the young Kachin before alluded to, has a habit, whether for the sake of distinction, or as signifying that they are prepared at any moment to give cold steel, of sloping arms in an eccentric way. Grasping the rifle at the upper band, they throw the butt over the shoulder and proceed with bayonets sticking out in front. As a necessary consequence they do not straggle so much as the others, for if a man lags he is wakened up by a prod from the point of the bayonet in the nape of the neck, or between the shoulders. The chief objection to this method of keeping the men at fairly regular intervals, is that a prick in