That evening our glowing account of the lovely caves, and genuine praises of the contents of the hamper, reinstated us in the good opinion of our hostess. This alone was conducive to a good night’s rest; and a day’s outing under a sun removed only sixteen and a half degrees from the Equator, and the lurching and jolting on the back of a terrestrial leviathan, supplied what was wanting. I was not sorry, therefore, when the retiring hour came round, and I could pass straight into dreamland. Caves are exceedingly common in this part of the country, more especially on the upper reaches of the river. They are considered, in some measure at least, sacred by the Burmese, who endeavour to ornament their entrances with images, flags and other devices; but what ideas they entertain with regard to their origin and formation I never remember hearing. These particular caves were evidently formed in the ordinary way; by the action, that is, of water and possibly some chemical action on oolitic limestone. But how this solitary rock resisted the violent forces in operation when the principal mass was removed, would require an expert geologist to explain. Even here, such a doctor might be as much at fault as his _confrères_ have shown themselves with regard to those singular detached rocks at Tunbridge Wells, at which they have laboured in vain. Their grooved, fluted bases unquestionably denote the action of violent currents at some period or other; and being the fittest, they have survived the general overthrow. And certainly they have been put to the utmost use as a show place at that fashionable resort, and much ingenuity has been expended on making them appear more extensive than they really are. CHAPTER XVI. AMHERST. “Oh! that a dream so sweet, so long enjoyed, Should be so sadly, cruelly destroyed.” The glory of this place had departed. As Moulmein rose in importance this once busy centre fell into decay, assuming for the most part its primeval condition of luxuriant vegetation. It was, nevertheless, the spot chosen for a sanatorium during the second Burmese war, and it certainly fulfilled the requirements of all concerned. Being built on the seashore, and at the mouth of the river, it combined great salubrity with easiness of approach. At the extreme point of a ledge of rocks that ran some distance out to sea stood the lighthouse, from which a submerged reef stretched obliquely towards the shore, enclosing an area of water in which the soldiers used to bathe, although the mouth of the river was infested with sharks. According to the testimony of the oldest inhabitant, none of these monsters had ever been known to stray inside the reef; though how soon this immunity ceased to be, the reader will learn before the close of the present chapter.