Harold Macgrath

Parrot & Co. Harold Macgrath

It began somewhere in the middle of the world, between London which is the beginning andNew York which is the end, where all things are east of the one and west of the other. To beprecise, a forlorn landing on the west bank of the muddy turbulent Irrawaddy, remembered byman only so often as it was necessary for the flotilla boat to call for paddy, a visitingcommissioner anxious to get away, or a family homeward-bound. Somewhere in the northeastwas Mandalay, but lately known in romance, verse and song; somewhere in the southeast layProme, known only in guide-books and time-tables; and farther south, Rangoon, sister toSingapore, the half-way house of the derelicts of the world. On the east side of the river, overthere, was a semblance of civilization. That is to say, men wore white linen, avoided murder, andfrequently paid their gambling debts. But on this west side stood wilderness, not the kind onereads about as being eventually conquered by white men; no, the real grim desolation, where theax cuts but leaves no blaze, where the pioneer disappears and few or none follow. The pioneerhas always been a successful pugilist, but in this part of Burma fate, out of pure admiration forthe pygmy's gameness, decided to call the battle a draw. It was not the wilderness of the desert, of the jungle; rather the tragic hopeless state of a settlement that neither progressed, retarded, norstood still