water, and if ever there was a frail defence for a nation
to rest its hopes upon, it is this. Four-square and
of plastered brick, it can boast neither of ditch nor
bastion, nor of any of the other devices that help a
fortress to defend itself. Its walls slope inwards, so
that its area at the top is smaller than at its base. It
has double walls with earth between, and low-arched
gateways. A series of vaulted rooms lines the inner
courtyard, and a double flight of stairs leads up north
and south to the level of the ramparts. I f ever there
was a rat-hole, it is this, and it proved true to its
character when our troops carried it and slew the
defenders cooped up within. “ The Madras scouts,”
I read in a narrative of the war, “ fell back on their
supports, by a movement which was unfairly attributed
to want of steadiness; the European officers raced
for the stockades, on the further side of which they saw
the Victoria Cross. They rushed up the high and
narrow ramp, which was defended by a cannon. The
piece was fired off over their heads, and in an instant
they and some thirty, or forty men entered the fort
and shot down the Burmese. Panic-stricken, most of
these fell on their knees and asked for mercy. The
moon ran out at the further gate and escaped. Eighty
Burmese were slain in the fort, and several officers
were severely wounded.”
This place, once a shambles, is now become a bazaar
crowded with the stalls of those who trade in beans
and pumpkins. It holds also a few stalls in which silk
and cotton goods are sold.