The one exciting incident of my brief tenure of this office was the riot in Rangoon between Mohammedans and Hindus in June, 1893. In Burma we were accustomed to a mild and tolerant religion, and had little acquaintance with the fierce fanaticism of warring sects. We resented bitterly the stirring up of strife by Mohammedans and Hindus in a land where they were strangers and pilgrims, hospitably received and treated with courtesy and consideration. Just as if guests should hurl decanters at one another across their host’s dinner-table. It is not quite accurate to say that Burmans dislike and despise Indians. They welcome them with large-hearted tolerance, and live amicably side by side with them. But the Burman regards himself as a superior being, much superior to anyone, except, perhaps, even this is doubtful, a European. And he does resent Indians being placed in authority over him. The occasion of this unusual and unnecessary tumult was the Mohammedan festival of Bakr-i-id. Though in Burma we have, I think, a slight leaning to the side of Mohammedans, whose religion is less puzzling to the lay mind than the abstruse mythology of the Hindus, I am bound to say that this time the Mohammedans were entirely in the wrong. In Twenty-ninth Street, a narrow thoroughfare of no good name, stood a Hindu temple of some repute. Having the rest of Rangoon practically at their disposal, the Mohammedans declared it essential to sacrifice their cow close to this temple. Forbidden by the magistrate to do this, it was expected that they would set at naught the prohibition. Such precautions as seemed necessary were taken by the Deputy Commissioner, Mr. A. S. Fleming, who was in close communication with me and with the Chief Secretary, Mr. Fryer being absent on tour. We determined to do the best with the police before calling out troops. Military and civil police patrols were organized; and early on Sunday morning, the great day of the feast, a fairly strong picket of military police, partly Mohammedans and partly Hindus, was posted at the top of Twenty-ninth Street. All local and civil officers, as well as others not immediately concerned, were in the town. The streets were thronged with people, Mohammedans in holiday attire, Hindus ready to make mischief, both sides spoiling for a fight. From the top of Twenty-ninth Street could be seen the great mosque in Mogul Street, crowded with excited worshippers. For a time, though the tension was extreme, nothing happened. One high official, who was present as a sightseer, asked wherefore the rioting did not begin. Before long he was satisfied. The crowd became a seething mass. A rush was made to force the picket holding Twenty-ninth Street. Then stones began to fly, and all was confusion. Sowars[227] cleared the street, but as soon as the charge was past the roadway was again filled with rioters. Mr. Fleming had his head cut open by a stone. My thick topi[228] saved me from a similar