[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN Co.]
Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
When the girls came out to play
Georgie Porgie ran away.
If you will admit that a man has no right to enter his drawing-room
early in the morning, when the housemaid is setting things right and
clearing away the dust, you will concede that civilised people who eat
out of china and own card-cases have no right to apply their standard
of right and wrong to an unsettled land. When the place is made fit
for their reception, by those men who are told off to the work, they
can come up, bringing in their trunks their own society and the
Decalogue, and all the other apparatus. Where the Queen's Law does not
carry, it is irrational to expect an observance of other and weaker
rules. The men who run ahead of the cars of Decency and Propriety, and
make the jungle ways straight, cannot be judged in the same manner as
the stay-at-home folk of the ranks of the regular Tchin.
Not many months ago the Queen's Law stopped a few miles north of
Thayetmyo on the Irrawaddy. There was no very strong Public Opinion up
to that limit, but it existed to keep men in order. When the
Government said that the Queen's Law must carry up to Bhamo and the
Chinese border the order was given, and some men whose desire was to
be ever a little in advance of the rush of Respectability flocked
forward with the troops. These were the men who could never pass
examinations, and would have been too pronounced in their ideas for
the administration of bureau-worked Provinces. The Supreme Government
stepped in as soon as might be, with codes and regulations, and all
but reduced New Burma to the dead Indian level; but there was a short
time during which strong men were necessary and ploughed a field for
Among the fore-runners of Civilisation was Georgie Porgie, reckoned
by all who knew him a strong man. He held an appointment in Lower
Burma when the order came to break the Frontier, and his friends
called him Georgie Porgie because of the singularly Burmese-like
manner in which he sang a song whose first line is something like the
words 'Georgie Porgie.' Most men who have been in Burma will know the
song. It means: 'Puff, puff, puff, puff, great steamboat!' Georgie
sang it to his banjo, and his friends shouted with delight, so that
you could hear them far away in the teak-forest.
When he went to Upper Burma he had no special regard for God or
Man, but he knew how to make himself respected, and to carry out the
mixed Military-Civil duties that fell to most men's share in those
months. He did his office work and entertained, now and again, the
detachments of fever-shaken soldiers who blundered through his part of
the world in search of a flying party of dacoits. Sometimes he turned
out and dressed down dacoits on his own account; for the country was
still smouldering and would blaze when least expected. He enjoyed
these charivaris, but the dacoits were not so amused. All the
officials who came in contact with him departed with the idea that
Georgie Porgie was a valuable person, well able to take care of
himself, and, on that belief, he was left to his own devices.
At the end of a few months he wearied of his solitude, and cast
about for company and refinement. The Queen's Law had hardly begun to
be felt in the country, and Public Opinion, which is more powerful
than the Queen's Law, had yet to come. Also, there was a custom in the
country which allowed a white man to take to himself a wife of the
Daughters of Heth upon due payment. The marriage was not quite so
binding as is the nikkah ceremony among Mahomedans, but the wife was
When all our troops are back from Burma there will be a proverb in
their mouths, 'As thrifty as a Burmese wife,' and pretty English
ladies will wonder what in the world it means.
The headman of the village next to Georgie Porgie's post had a fair
daughter who had seen Georgie Porgie and loved him from afar. When
news went abroad that the Englishman with the heavy hand who lived in
the stockade was looking for a housekeeper, the headman came in and
explained that, for five hundred rupees down, he would entrust his
daughter to Georgie Porgie's keeping, to be maintained in all honour,
respect, and comfort, with pretty dresses, according to the custom of
the country. This thing was done, and Georgie Porgie never repented
He found his rough-and-tumble house put straight and made
comfortable, his hitherto unchecked expenses cut down by one half, and
himself petted and made much of by his new acquisition, who sat at the
head of his table and sang songs to him and ordered his Madrassee
servants about, and was in every way as sweet and merry and honest and
winning a little woman as the most exacting of bachelors could have
desired. No race, men say who know, produces such good wives and heads
of households as the Burmese. When the next detachment tramped by on
the war-path the Subaltern in Command found at Georgie Porgie's table
a hostess to be deferential to, a woman to be treated in every way as
one occupying an assured position. When he gathered his men together
next dawn and replunged into the jungle he thought regretfully of the
nice little dinner and the pretty face, and envied Georgie Porgie from
the bottom of his heart. Yet HE was engaged to a girl at Home, and
that is how some men are constructed.
The Burmese girl's name was not a pretty one; but as she was
promptly christened Georgina by Georgie Porgie, the blemish did not
matter. Georgie Porgie thought well of the petting and the general
comfort, and vowed that he had never spent five hundred rupees to a
After three months of domestic life, a great idea struck him.
Matrimony— English matrimony—could not be such a bad thing after
all. If he were so thoroughly comfortable at the Back of Beyond with
this Burmese girl who smoked cheroots, how much more comfortable would
he be with a sweet English maiden who would not smoke cheroots, and
would play upon a piano instead of a banjo? Also he had a desire to
return to his kind, to hear a Band once more, and to feel how it felt
to wear a dress-suit again. Decidedly, Matrimony would be a very good
thing. He thought the matter out at length of evenings, while Georgina
sang to him, or asked him why he was so silent, and whether she had
done anything to offend him. As he thought, he smoked, and as he
smoked he looked at Georgina, and in his fancy turned her into a fair,
thrifty, amusing, merry, little English girl, with hair coming low
down on her forehead, and perhaps a cigarette between her lips.
Certainly, not a big, thick, Burma cheroot, of the brand that Georgina
smoked. He would wed a girl with Georgina's eyes and most of her ways.
But not all. She could be improved upon. Then he blew thick
smoke-wreaths through his nostrils and stretched himself. He would
taste marriage. Georgina had helped him to save money, and there were
six months' leave due to him.
'See here, little woman,' he said, 'we must put by more money for
these next three months. I want it.' That was a direct slur on
Georgina's housekeeping; for she prided herself on her thrift; but
since her God wanted money she would do her best.
'You want money?' she said with a little laugh. 'I HAVE money.
Look!' She ran to her own room and fetched out a small bag of rupees.
'Of all that you give me, I keep back some. See! One hundred and seven
rupees. Can you want more money than that? Take it. It is my pleasure
if you use it.' She spread out the money on the table and pushed it
towards him, with her quick, little, pale yellow fingers.
Georgie Porgie never referred to economy in the household again.
Three months later, after the dispatch and receipt of several
mysterious letters which Georgina could not understand, and hated for
that reason, Georgie Porgie said that he was going away and she must
return to her father's house and stay there.
Georgina wept. She would go with her God from the world's end to
the world's end. Why should she leave him? She loved him.
'I am only going to Rangoon,' said Georgie Porgie. 'I shall be back
in a month, but it is safer to stay with your father. I will leave you
two hundred rupees.'
'If you go for a month, what need of two hundred? Fifty are more
than enough. There is some evil here. Do not go, or at least let me go
Georgie Porgie does not like to remember that scene even at this
date. In the end he got rid of Georgina by a compromise of
seventy-five rupees. She would not take more. Then he went by steamer
and rail to Rangoon.
The mysterious letters had granted him six months' leave. The
actual flight and an idea that he might have been treacherous hurt
severely at the time, but as soon as the big steamer was well out into
the blue, things were easier, and Georgina's face, and the queer
little stockaded house, and the memory of the rushes of shouting
dacoits by night, the cry and struggle of the first man that he had
ever killed with his own hand, and a hundred other more intimate
things, faded and faded out of Georgie Porgie's heart, and the vision
of approaching England took its place. The steamer was full of men on
leave, all rampantly jovial souls who had shaken off the dust and
sweat of Upper Burma and were as merry as schoolboys. They helped
Georgie Porgie to forget.
Then came England with its luxuries and decencies and comforts, and
Georgie Porgie walked in a pleasant dream upon pavements of which he
had nearly forgotten the ring, wondering why men in their senses ever
left Town. He accepted his keen delight in his furlough as the reward
of his services. Providence further arranged for him another and
greater delight—all the pleasures of a quiet English wooing, quite
different from the brazen businesses of the East, when half the
community stand back and bet on the result, and the other half wonder
what Mrs. So-and- So will say to it.
It was a pleasant girl and a perfect summer, and a big
country-house near Petworth where there are acres and acres of purple
heather and high-grassed water-meadows to wander through. Georgie
Porgie felt that he had at last found something worth the living for,
and naturally assumed that the next thing to do was to ask the girl to
share his life in India. She, in her ignorance, was willing to go. On
this occasion there was no bartering with a village headman. There was
a fine middle- class wedding in the country, with a stout Papa and a
weeping Mamma, and a best-man in purple and fine linen, and six
snub-nosed girls from the Sunday School to throw roses on the path
between the tombstones up to the Church door. The local paper
described the affair at great length, even down to giving the hymns in
full. But that was because the Direction were starving for want of
Then came a honeymoon at Arundel, and the Mamma wept copiously
before she allowed her one daughter to sail away to India under the
care of Georgie Porgie the Bridegroom. Beyond any question, Georgie
Porgie was immensely fond of his wife, and she was devoted to him as
the best and greatest man in the world. When he reported himself at
Bombay he felt justified in demanding a good station for his wife's
sake; and, because he had made a little mark in Burma and was
beginning to be appreciated, they allowed him nearly all that he asked
for, and posted him to a station which we will call Sutrain. It stood
upon several hills, and was styled officially a 'Sanitarium,' for the
good reason that the drainage was utterly neglected. Here Georgie
Porgie settled down, and found married life come very naturally to
him. He did not rave, as do many bridegrooms, over the strangeness and
delight of seeing his own true love sitting down to breakfast with him
every morning 'as though it were the most natural thing in the world.'
'He had been there before,' as the Americans say, and, checking the
merits of his own present Grace by those of Georgina, he was more and
more inclined to think that he had done well.
But there was no peace or comfort across the Bay of Bengal, under
the teak-trees where Georgina lived with her father, waiting for
Georgie Porgie to return. The headman was old, and remembered the war
of '51. He had been to Rangoon, and knew something of the ways of the
Kullahs. Sitting in front of his door in the evenings, he taught
Georgina a dry philosophy which did not console her in the least.
The trouble was that she loved Georgie Porgie just as much as the
French girl in the English History books loved the priest whose head
was broken by the king's bullies. One day she disappeared from the
village with all the rupees that Georgie Porgie had given her, and a
very small smattering of English—also gained from Georgie Porgie.
The headman was angry at first, but lit a fresh cheroot and said
something uncomplimentary about the sex in general. Georgina had
started on a search for Georgie Porgie, who might be in Rangoon, or
across the Black Water, or dead, for aught that she knew. Chance
favoured her. An old Sikh policeman told her that Georgie Porgie had
crossed the Black Water. She took a steerage-passage from Rangoon and
went to Calcutta; keeping the secret of her search to herself.
In India every trace of her was lost for six weeks, and no one
knows what trouble of heart she must have undergone.
She reappeared, four hundred miles north of Calcutta, steadily
heading northwards, very worn and haggard, but very fixed in her
determination to find Georgie Porgie. She could not understand the
language of the people; but India is infinitely charitable, and the
women-folk along the Grand Trunk gave her food. Something made her
believe that Georgie Porgie was to be found at the end of that
pitiless road. She may have seen a sepoy who knew him in Burma, but of
this no one can be certain. At last, she found a regiment on the line
of march, and met there one of the many subalterns whom Georgie Porgie
had invited to dinner in the far-off, old days of the dacoit-hunting.
There was a certain amount of amusement among the tents when Georgina
threw herself at the man's feet and began to cry. There was no
amusement when her story was told; but a collection was made, and that
was more to the point. One of the subalterns knew of Georgie Porgie's
whereabouts, but not of his marriage. So he told Georgina and she went
her way joyfully to the north, in a railway carriage where there was
rest for tired feet and shade for a dusty little head. The marches
from the train through the hills into Sutrain were trying, but
Georgina had money, and families journeying in bullock-carts gave her
help. It was an almost miraculous journey, and Georgina felt sure that
the good spirits of Burma were looking after her. The hill-road to
Sutrain is a chilly stretch, and Georgina caught a bad cold. Still
there was Georgie Porgie at the end of all the trouble to take her up
in his arms and pet her, as he used to do in the old days when the
stockade was shut for the night and he had approved of the evening
meal. Georgina went forward as fast as she could; and her good spirits
did her one last favour.
An Englishman stopped her, in the twilight, just at the turn of the
road into Sutrain, saying, 'Good Heavens! What are you doing here?'
He was Gillis, the man who had been Georgie Porgie's assistant in
Upper Burma, and who occupied the next post to Georgie Porgie's in the
jungle. Georgie Porgie had applied to have him to work with at Sutrain
because he liked him.
'I have come,' said Georgina simply. 'It was such a long way, and I
have been months in coming. Where is his house?'
Gillis gasped. He had seen enough of Georgina in the old times to
know that explanations would be useless. You cannot explain things to
the Oriental. You must show.
'I'll take you there,' said Gillis, and he led Georgina off the
road, up the cliff, by a little pathway, to the back of a house set on
a platform cut into the hillside.
The lamps were just lit, but the curtains were not drawn. 'Now
look,' said Gillis, stopping in front of the drawing-room window.
Georgina looked and saw Georgie Porgie and the Bride.
She put her hand up to her hair, which had come out of its top-knot
and was straggling about her face. She tried to set her ragged dress
in order, but the dress was past pulling straight, and she coughed a
queer little cough, for she really had taken a very bad cold. Gillis
looked, too, but while Georgina only looked at the Bride once, turning
her eyes always on Georgie Porgie, Gillis looked at the Bride all the
'What are you going to do?' said Gillis, who held Georgina by the
wrist, in case of any unexpected rush into the lamplight. 'Will you go
in and tell that English woman that you lived with her husband?'
'No,' said Georgina faintly. 'Let me go. I am going away. I swear
that I am going away.' She twisted herself free and ran off into the
'Poor little beast!' said Gillis, dropping on to the main road.
'I'd ha' given her something to get back to Burma with. What a narrow
shave though! And that angel would never have forgiven it.'
This seems to prove that the devotion of Gillis was not entirely
due to his affection for Georgie Porgie.
The Bride and the Bridegroom came out into the verandah after
dinner, in order that the smoke of Georgie Porgie's cheroots might not
hang in the new drawing-room curtains.
'What is that noise down there?' said the Bride. Both listened.
'Oh,' said Georgie Porgie, 'I suppose some brute of a hillman has
been beating his wife.'
'Beating—his—wife! How ghastly!' said the Bride. 'Fancy YOUR
beating ME!' She slipped an arm round her husband's waist, and,
leaning her head against his shoulder, looked out across the
cloud-filled valley in deep content and security.
But it was Georgina crying, all by herself, down the hillside,
among the stones of the water-course where the washermen wash the