Upper Irrawaddy. From Minsin, in the east, the river
curves to Naukpe, and, looking back from- here, there
is a fine view of the troubled outline and citadel-like
forms of the hills, that rise between the river and the
mountain wall of the wild Chins in the west.
Ledges of cliff and rock abut on the river, deep in
hanging fern and velvet-textured moss. At these points
the river swirls and foams, impeded in its straight
course; and the
line of the high
floods on its rocky
w a lls te lls e lo quently
of a greatly
fallen river. Foot
by foot, and inch
by inch, till the
melting of winter
snows again r e plenishes
its flood,
a g l im p s e f r o m a s h o r e the r iv e r g iv e s
back to the land
the territories it has won. But the marks of its
supremacy, like blast holes and chisel cuts, bespatter
the rocky banks all the way from Monywa to
Hkamti.
Pink and black buffaloes all along the river stare,
through the reeds, out of wild eyes at the passing
steamer. Here and there a party of men,; with dahs
slung over their naked shoulders, and women in scarlet
wrappings which drop in a fall over their ample breasts,
march along the banks, stopping to gaze like their
cattle at the portent on the river.
Past Yan-ywa, the river gains a sudden access of
beauty. A cliff runs down to it on the east. Low
hills rise on the west bank. Through this gateway
the river stretches away to the great mountains. Their
slopes are so close now that I can count on Saramati
the trees in flower, which make a yellow pattern on the
pervading blue, and the deep gorge ten thousand feet
above the sea, mist-clad and shadowy in the sunlight,
reminds me of the Himalaya.
Here also the navigation is dangerous. Under the
cliff the river runs hard. Sands lie across it near the
further bank. The channel is narrow, the current
rapid, the bend acute. To turn it, coming down-stream,
is something of a feat. A little farther on, the same
episode is reproduced on the opposite bank; but complicated
further by a reef, which stretches like a paw
from the hills into the river. There is a great curve
above it, and the waters, sweeping round in its fold,
hurl themselves upon the reef, and surmount it in waves
that leap with life, and in eddies that bubble and scatter
with the rapidity of lightning. A golden galon-bird
high up on a grey post marks this spot of sinister
character.
Traces of cultivation are visible at long intervals
along the banks ; the cultivation of the migrating
peasant, whose system j i§ so rude that the finest soil
cannot pay his drafts upon it for more than a few
seasons. There is no mistaking the symptoms of the