The Road to Mandalay: A Tale of BurmaCroker, B. M. (Bithia Mary)
General
The Road to Mandalay: A Tale of Burma
Croker, B. M. (Bithia Mary)
British -- Burma -- Fiction; Drug abuse -- Fiction; Drug traffic -- Fiction
“There was one particular low wharf I used to hang round by way of
watching fellows netting fish; and one warm afternoon, as I was
meditating there, the chance looked my way. Two half-drunken Chinamen
come along quarrelling and sat down near me, and I ‘foxed’ I was sound
asleep. They argued about shares and money, and jabbered away very
angry, telling me all I wanted. By and by, when they cooled down a bit,
they saw me, an’ this was what ye may call a critical moment for Mick
Ryan.”
“No doubt of that. Go on!”
“At first one of them was undecided as to whether I was asleep—or not.
The other brute said: ‘No chance take, stick knife in throat, and shove
into the water.’ You know what these thieves are with their long
blades. I tell ye, Mr. Shafto, they might have heard me heart thumping!
However, my good angel, Saint Michael himself, had his eye on me, for
it turned out that neither of them had a _dah_ with him. Then they come
and leant over me, breathing into me face with their filthy rank
breath, reeking of napie and pickled eggs, and I snored back like a
good one! I snored for my very life, and I done it so natural, they
were well satisfied; and I being such a big man and heavy to shift,
they give up the notion of slinging me into the Irrawaddy and went off
still quarrelling. I stayed on without a move out of me for a full
hour; then I got up yawning my head off, and walked away with the
_clue_ in me hand!”
“Is the den in Rangoon? There’s many a queer place here?”
“No, not in Rangoon itself, but some way up the river; about twenty
miles beyond Prome there is a deserted village that was cleared out by
cholera twenty years ago. They say a big cholera _nat_ lives there, and
no one will go next or nigh it. There’s a pagoda, a Kyoung, and a rest
house, all smothered in jungle, and a nice little bit of a convenient
landing, and ’tis there the Cocaine Company does its business—I learnt
all their tricks. The Chinamen gave me a lot of news; it seems they
smuggle opium, too, and distribute the stuff up and down the river by
boats; on land by pack animals and the railroad. Oh, it’s a wonderfully
handy situation; they couldn’t have picked a better!”
“And what about the people who run it?” asked Shafto.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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