s blest
whose blow's in first;" so we took his country--and make it pay by the
sweat of our brows--poor devils.

We are steaming now north by east, a very winding course, for the water
is shallow though the river is wide. At high water season I'd think
there must be too much water for appearance sake--it must feel too wide
for a river and too narrow for the sea.

We stop at another village. Popa mountain detaches itself from
surroundings, thirty or forty miles to the east; it is faint violet and
rises from a slightly undulating wooded plain. It is a great place for
game and nats. Most powerful nats or spirits live there, and if you go
shooting you get nothing, unless you offer some of your breakfast as a
peace-offering to these spirits in the morning. This has been found to
be true over and over again by those who have shot there.

The day closes, the Arrakan Mountains far away in the west are violet.
The river here is wide as a fine lake and so smooth it reflects the most
delicate tints of cloud-land. In front of us a low promontory stretches
out from the east bank; we have to spend the night there. It is heavily
clad with trees, delicate pagoda spires, white and gold, rise from the
dark foliage and gleam with warm sunset light against the cool grey sky
in the north. Trees and spires, sands, cliffs, cottages, and the canoes
with bright-coloured paddlers, are all reflected in the smooth water.

As we get within ten yards of the shore six of our Chittagong crew
plunge into the glittering water with a light rope, and are ashore in a
minute and are hauling in our wire hawser; the setting sun striking
their wet bodies, makes them almost like ruddy gold, and their black
trousers cling to their legs. It seems an elementary way of taking a
line ashore; I think that with a little practise two men in a dinghy
would be quicker and would look more seamanlike--but probably it was the
way in the Ark, so the custom remains.

The Burmese villagers gather in groups and sit on the top of the bank in
the growing dusk. We can just see a suggestion of their gay colours and
the gleam of their cheroots. G. and I go ashore and stumble along a
deep, sandy road; on either side are little and big trees with open
cottages behind them, made of neatly woven bamboo matting, lit with oil
crusies. We come to a pagoda, and tall white griffins at its entrance
staring up into the sky, strange, grotesque beasts--the white-wash they
are covered with l