This was one of the first daurs, or small expeditions, undertaken. Keeping close to the telegraph line which it was our primary duty to restore to working order, we marched through the midst of the Ava subdivision. In fine open country we rode daily over sessamum fields or through tall growths of millet, making our first acquaintance with the land where so much of our lives was to be spent. The climate was cool and pleasant, so that we were able to march far into the morning. At the village where the cavalry had been routed we were so hospitably received that, to the best of my recollection, no punishment for past misdeeds was inflicted. We were particularly touched to find here two Madrasi sayces,[103] cavalry followers who had been missing since the engagement, and who had, in fact, been wounded and disabled. They had been plastered and nursed by the villagers, and were restored to us none the worse for their adventure. Not much farther on we found a crucified man falling to pieces after long exposure to sun and wind. I believe it was customary to kill the victim before affixing his body to a St. Andrew’s cross. In early days, after a successful skirmish with dacoits, a Burman assistant approached the civil officer, saying as a matter of course: “I suppose it is time now to crucify the prisoners!” Incidents like these illustrate the charming inconsistency of the Burmese character already noted. Later on in our march we were resisted at two villages and had two little fights without, I think, any casualties on our side. After all the people had been cleared out, the first village was burnt for reasons of military necessity. Rightly enough, the burning of villages has always been discouraged, indeed, strictly forbidden, save as an extreme measure or for military reasons. But, when occasion arises, it is very interesting to put a match to a thatched roof and see it blaze to the sky. The second village had to be shelled. Clements and I, who had ridden round to examine one of the farther approaches, found ourselves in the unpleasant position of being shelled by our own side. There I saw an instance of the stoical resolution with which Burmans meet death. A man torn to pieces by a shell asked only for an umbrella to shield him from the sun and a cheroot to smoke while he awaited the end. Both were supplied while our surgeon afforded such relief as might be. Here is another inconsistency. By a shout and the explosion of a cracker, a band of dacoits[104] will put to flight all the men of a village, who stampede, leaving the women and children at the mercy of the assailants. Dacoits themselves go to work with trembling knees and hearts of water, ready to fly at the first sign of resistance. Yet men of the same race and class face a firing party with a smile or walk to the gallows with unfaltering step. Once, at a military execution, some half a dozen dacoits were put up, one by one, against the city wall to be shot.