Cannon Soldiers of Burma: A Part of Burmese History Largely Unknown to Its Modern Peoples & the World

By James Myint Swe

The early 16th century; a time of adventure and exploration when bold men dared to brave uncharted seas in search of exotic lands. One such group, a band of young Portuguese sailors seeking fame and fortune, arrived at Burma’s western shores for trade but found much more. Their ability to impress the Burmese Kings with their sophisticated cannons and muskets started a relationship that at first made them masters of their own fate but quickly evolved into their total enslavement.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483532424

Book preview

Ayeyawaddy

Part I

In 1511 Albuquerque sent a group of Portuguese ships to make inquiries at Tenasserim, Martaban and Pegu.

Chapter 1

The Unknown East

Goa, India, 1511

It was a morning the week after the New Year’s festivities when the port of Goa buzzed with excitement as the crew of the Santa Palo, Santa Pedro, Santa Joao, Santa Margritta and Santa Rosa streamed into an empty field on the west side of the old church by the port. This is a formal gathering for a final Mass before setting out on their new adventure to the East. It had been a few years since the Portuguese had established their naval base in Goa, and the time had come to seek new places, new trade and new people.

The church was almost full with mothers, children, old men and women of all walks of life. While outside in the bright morning, the sailors and soldiers waited in orderly ranks behind their captains, ready for their formal entrance to take their seats in the reserved pews.

One by one, the crew paraded into the church in front of their families and friends followed by Goa’s governor and administrators, and behind them a group of the colourfully dressed wealthy. The governor and the elite took their rightful places on the left side of the church, the sailors and soldiers the right. As the choir began to sing Glory to Our King, the bishop and the altar boys entered, and the service began.

Rays of the early morning sun streamed through the tinted mother-of-pearl windows, their splashes of rainbow colour particularly falling on two young soldiers in the third pew. Lancaster de Almeida was tall and slender, Paolo Seixas a bit broader. They were both in their late teens, originally from the same small town near Lisbon, and both new members of the royal regiment. They were equally very restless and eager for the Mass to be over so they could board their ship and get their adventure underway. The service passed in an anxious blur, and soon the whole congregation was making their way back outside, while the sailors and soldiers waited patiently for their turn to be led out.

Through the open door of the church, Lancaster got a glimpse of the ships docked outside and looked sideways at Paolo, who was staring out at the harbour with wide eyes.

Lancaster elbowed him. You do know what we’re doing, right?

Paolo looked at his friend. Do you?

"We’re going on an adventure, Paolo. There’s a whole world of possibilities out there for us. Look excited about it." Then conversation ended as they both took their place with their crew.

An altar boy carrying a silver cross led the crew of the five ships out of the church in procession, followed by the bishop, priests and the rest of the altar boys. The bishop moved along the line of sailors and soldiers, dipping the aspergillum in a basin held by a young boy and sprinkling holy water as he went, finally stopping to address the crowd with a short speech, peppered with Biblical quotes, the governor following suit. Behind them, the clang and clatter of the loading of the ships was such that it drowned out both speakers, at times.

Suddenly all the men who were about to set sail dropped to their knees as the bishop and three priests came forward again, the bishop’s hands outstretched.

Holy Father in Heaven, bless and guide these brave young men about to venture towards lands unknown, far away from their homes and loved ones. Keep them safe from all harm and dangers they may encounter on their journey. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.

The sailors rose as Captain Antonio Fernandes, captain of the Santa Palo, the largest of the fleet, strode solemnly aboard with a few of his sailors and gave orders, Men we’re about to set sail soon, please finish up your chores and get the ships ready. The sailors unfurled a Portuguese flag on the ship’s top sail.

The five ships were truly marvels; new carracksmeant for long journeys with room enough for their crew of fifty each, plus provisions and cargo. Each large carrack was accompanied by a smaller caravel, a more maneuverable vessel to navigate shallower waters near the shoreline. Lancaster shivered at the sight, and then glanced at Paolo, hoping he had not noticed.

The sun climbed atop the church steeple, signalling noon. A gentle wind blew north to south. Sailing conditions could not have been more perfect, and the crew began to say their good-byes, laughing, hugging and singing with the large crowd waiting along the shore to see them off. Spirits were high, but there was a sober undercurrent. Everyone knew the dangers facing their friends, their brothers, their sons, out on the high seas.

The church bells rang, and the crew began to board their respective ships. As Lancaster stepped onto the deck of the Santa Palo, he turned back and looked at Goa one last time.

Adeus, amigos! He waved. Good-bye, friends!

From land, many in the crowd waved back and shouted. "Bao viagem Lanny! Have a safe journey!"

The church bell tolled for the Angelus, and one of the priests began to lead the crowd in their noon prayers.

The whole crowd stopped again, some knelt and some stood, and began to pray the daily noon prayers.

V/. Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae,

R/. Et concepit de Spiritu Sancto.

Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus.

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

V/. Ecce Ancilla Domini.

R/. Fiat mihi secundum Verbum tuum.

Ave Maria, gratia plena...

V/. Et Verbum caro factum est.

R/. Et habitavit in nobis.

Ave Maria, gratia plena...

V/. Ora pro nobis, Sancta Dei Genetrix.

R/. Ut digni efficiamur promissionibus Christi.

Oremus: Gratiam tuam quæsumus, Domine, mentibus nostris infunde; ut qui, angelo nuntiante, Christi Filii tui Incarnationem cognovimus, per passionem eius et crucem, ad resurrectionis gloriam perducamur.Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.

The bell tolled once in a low tone, then in a mid tone and then again in a louder tone. Finally all three bells rang together in a climactic tone, signalling to all that the noon prayers had ended.

The ships began dropping their main sails and as the fleet drifted out of Goa harbour, the Santa Palo and Santa Rosa bid a final farewell with a blast from their cannons.

The south-flowing wind caught the sails, and just like that, the ships and their men were pulled towards an unknown world.

Chapter 2

The Two Friends

For two weeks, the Santa Palo led the fleet of Portuguese ships along the Indian coast in waters so perfect the journey did seem truly blessed. They passed the point of Cape Comorin and while coasting towards the big island of Ceylon they spotted two Portuguese caravels, a larger ship and smaller rowing boats in the waters, giving their fellow countrymen a gun salute as they sailed past. The salute seemed to signal an end to the favourable weather. The strong wind had picked up and propelled the fleet into the mouth of the Mahanadi River. The crew of each ship were exhausted trying to keep the ship sails stabilized, and the ships themselves from running aground on the shallow silt. After sailing across the muddy Mahanadi delta, they were granted a brief respite anchoring at Banja, a small Portuguese trading post, waiting for the sea to calm then set sail again.

Lancaster and Paolo often took late watch-duty together, whiling the hours away talking and watching the dark world go by. Out on the ocean at nighttime, they could have been somewhere they had never been before away from home.

It was on a night a few days after leaving Banja that Paolo noticed his friend seemed upset.

What do you think of our journey so far, Lancaster? Paolo ventured.

Lancaster stared out at the black water. I wish we were back in the rough waters around Ceylon. So far, there’s been no adventure at all.

Paolo leaned his elbows on the deck rail next to his friend. We’ve only been sailing two weeks. There’s lots of time for adventure yet.

For a moment, Lancaster was silent. Then, Do you miss your family, Paolo?

The question was something of a surprise. Yes, very much so, especially my little sister and brother. They’re too young to even understand what we’re doing. My whole family was proud of me when I joined the royal regiment but sad when I left for training. Paolo swallowed. My father encouraged me to seek adventure while I was still young, but even so.

It’s sad to leave, Lancaster said.

It’s sad to leave, Paolo agreed. He risked a glance at his friend, who was still staring thoughtfully over the water. Was your family supportive when you joined the regiment?

My father was. My mother just worried. My brother, I don’t know what he thought.

Well, whatever they thought, we’re here now, aren’t we?

Yes.

Paolo stood up straight again, patting Lancaster’s arm. And we’ll find plenty of adventure. The two of us.

That seemed to snap Lancaster out of his sad spell, and he turned and smiled, nodding his head at Paolo. Right, he said. The two of us.

As the Indian coastline vanished in their wake, the fleet now rushing towards a mysterious island on the horizon, the scenery changed. Captain Antonio Fernandes had noticed that the water was turning a light green, and then became so clear that the rocks at the ocean floor were visible. As they sailed closer to the shoreline, Lancaster pointed out, Look captain! Look over there! Isn’t it beautiful? Everyone looked at the scenery before them murmuring. Beautiful. Beyond the beach amidst the lush greenery there were flowering bushes with hundreds of colourful flowers. Wild orchids clung to every tree trunk next to flowering bushes, where rainbows of butterflies and moths darted; colourful, beautiful birds fluttered freely and monkeys chattered among themselves as they swung from tree to tree, while alligators and even some rhinos basked in the warm sun by the shore. The untouched beauty of the island mesmerized every sailor in the fleet, so much so that it was a while before anyone noticed the very visible path leading from the beach into the forest. Captain Fernandes noticed the trail along the shoreline of the island going towards the forest. The excitement on board rose to fever pitch when Captain Fernandes ordered a small team down to one of the narrow caravels, including Paolo and Lancaster, to go and inspect the trail.

Though Lancaster endeavoured to be the stoic military man he dreamed of being, he was nearly vibrating with excitement as the tall ship drifted towards the island, the crew on the alert for wild animals as they got into the shallower waters, or even, perhaps, in case native people attacked them to defend their island when they landed.

As the caravel searched for a spot to land, the birds in the trees began to flap their wings and squawk as the strangers came closer. The animals on the beach stared at the sailors, impassive sentries guarding the dark forest.

The sailors from the caravel silently streamed on the beach, speaking to each other only with hand signals and following the orders of the captain through the flag signals from the ship a short distance from the water. On the Santa Pedro, Captain Joao ordered his men to be ready to assist from the ship, lest there be an attack. From anything.

But all was quiet.

One of the young sailors took the lead, and Lancaster, Paolo and the others crept down the path into the jungle, casting each other nervous glances as the eerie silence of the island enveloped them.

The men ventured further and further down the narrow path, the dense forest a green canopy through which the sunlight could not penetrate. They kept to their signals and silence, even though Lancaster yearned to babble his excitement to Paolo next to him. Paolo, for his part, focused on the path ahead and looked neither right nor left.

A rustle in the bushes ahead brought the group to a halt. Lancaster’s heart pounded, and he rested his fingers on the butt of his musketon.

The rustle grew to a thunder-like noise, followed by the sounds of the trumpeting of larger animals. Soon the ground was shaking as the men fled to safety running towards the trees on the left side of the bushes, a few even climbing the trees. Lancaster and Paolo crouched against a tree trunk, tense, and ready to spring into action.

A hundred yards down the path, the foliage broke to reveal...an elephant. It strode purposefully past the soldiers without a spared glance. It was followed by a procession of more animals coming out from the deep forest—boars and buffaloes, none of them sparing a second for the men on the trees and behind the tree trunks—all heading towards a small pond, barely visible to the east of the path. The animals took their drinks, and melted back into the forest, leaving the soldiers in silence. They ventured back onto the path and halfheartedly searched another mile into the jungle, then, as the spots of sky visible through the canopy turned pink, ventured back to the ships. Lancaster’s shoulders slumped as their leader made his report to Captain Antonio. Paolo touched his friend’s shoulder, and then let him be with his disappointment. The wild animals were interesting, but it was not the adventure they had anticipated; still, they considered it a lucky day as there was no battle or war to fight.

After all the commotion on the island, Captain Fernandes ordered a rest, as it was almost coming close to the end of the day, and the ships were anchored not too far from the shore. He called all the captains of the ships into his cabin and discussed the next day’s trip, studying the last sailing route from Goa to Malacca, and back to Goa.

Chapter 3

Entering the Gate of the Golden Land

It was about noon the next day; the Portuguese fleet was again underway. Paolo, along with Captain Antonio and the officers on the Santa Palo, were poring over a sailing chart, the only one of this part of the world, drawn by Don Albuquerque, an earlier Portuguese navigator.

Paolo had made the clever suggestion of marking out changes as they sailed, and so they in turn studied the chart and looked out over the ocean as a gentle breeze blew from the southeast. The morning had passed pleasantly, and now the breeze was beginning to smell not only of the ocean, but of the chourizo—the spicy Portuguese pork sausage—and buns the cook was bringing up for morning meals, when a voice called out from the crow’s nest (a structure in the upper part of the main mast of the ship used as a lookout point where a sailor is stationed to watch for land or unusual things in the front).

White sails on the horizon! I see white sails on the horizon! Over there! To the east!

There was a moment of silence, then a great cheer went up from the deck, and the thunder of muskets filled the air as the bell in the cabin box on the top sail pealed. Soon the port deck was swarming with the crew looking eastward, straining to see those promising sails. In the midst of the crowd, Lancaster quivered with joy, casting a glance at the upper deck to see if Paolo looked as excited.

Captain Antonio allowed himself a moment of excitement, then went back to business. He pointed at Major Alfonso Pereira, commander of their soldiers. Major, take charge, and prepare for possible battle. Hospitality or hostility, we have to be ready.

Major Alfonso nodded, and went to work.

The white sails, not a tall stack of sails, but many little ones, looked as though they were chasing each other back and forth across the water from the distance. As the Portuguese fleet got closer to the white sails, Captain Antonio wondered if they were fishing boats.

Across the fleet, most of the crew slipped into the caravels, muskets in hand, while the soldiers took their positions on deck and at their gun ports.

In front of the leading ship Santa Palo, more than fifty sailboats suddenly appeared and crisscrossed in front of the Portuguese fleet. In the distance a white, sandy shore lined with tall trees could be seen. The sailboats, their white sails shining, darted through the water, each carrying what looked to be about twenty men—warrior-like men—carrying spears and frightening-looking knives.

As the sailboats came closer, the warriors began shouting in a foreign tongue. Cursing himself for not having thought ahead, Captain Antonio shouted for his interpreter Shaffa, a slim young man. Shaffa nervously pushed through the crowd to join the captain on the upper deck. Captain Antonio grabbed Shaffa’s arm and pointed to the foreign boats below. We’re here to do trade and establish friendship. Tell them.

Shaffa kept the quiver out of his voice. Namaste! he tried.

There was no response. So they did not speak Hindi.

Salaam! Still nothing.

At first the Portuguese thought those were fishing boats from the distance; it was a surprise, then, that they turned out to be small war ships that surrounded the Portuguese fleet. Shaffa felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck, and he had just started making frantic hand gestures when Major Alfonso handed him a small, white flag. His face burning, Shaffa waved the flag and pointed to the caravel closest to the Santa Palo.

Lancaster, Paolo and two other soldiers climbed down to the little boat from the rope ladder that was tied to the side of the Santa Palo, followed by Shaffa and Major Alfonso carrying a gift bag. A tall warrior on one of the foreign boats—he appeared to be the leader—lifted the arm bearing his spear, the deadly tip held level with Major Alfonso’s chest across the short span of water. All went quiet aboard the Portuguese ships; the soldiers were still in position, with muskets and cannons loaded and aimed.

Major Alfonso, his eyes never leaving the warrior, allowed his caravel to drift towards the leader’s vessel, almost as if to impale himself on that outstretched spear. The two boats bumped together, and Alfonso handed Shaffa and another sailor an ornate yellow box, a package of gifts, with nothing more than a nod.

Shaffa stepped forward, and slowly reached across the water, handing the exquisite box to the warrior-leader. The tall man regarded the box, his gaze flicking once more to Major Alfonso, before lowering his spear and taking the offered gift, examining it briefly before handing it to one of his own men with a sharp-tongued command. The other sailor bowed his head, and lifted the lid.

Inside, in luxurious contrast to the box’s cheery exterior, was another box, this one of ornate glass, wrapped in dark blue velvet. The second man spoke to his leader, and Shaffa strained his ears to pick up the foreign syllables. He turned his head to whisper to Alfonso. Captain, let me try one more time.

Major Alfonso nodded. What did they have to lose?

Shaffa turned back to the warrior and his followers and took a deep breath. This language was not one of his stronger ones.

Vanakkam! He cried out a Tamil greeting. "Vanakkam, to you and all your people. We come in peace, and amaithi—friendship."

A tense moment passed.

The foreign leader turned and said something to a man in a long white tunic who stood out among the dark-clad warriors.

The man shook his head, and said something back. That was enough to encourage Shaffa.

We are sailors and soldiers from Portugal, he said, again in his halting Tamil. We come here in peace and friendship, and seek trade with your country and your king. What country is this? Are all of you here part of a tribe? Can you take us to your...your raja? Your king?

Shaffa’s heart leapt when the man in the white tunic stepped forward and responded, much more fluently saying in Tamil, My name is Amal. You are in the country of the Rakhines/Arakans. I am a Tamil serving the Arakan king. These people are the Arakanese or Rakhines, and we will take you to our leader.

At that, the warrior-leader took his place at the head of the boat, and shouted to his men. The strange boats surrounding the Portuguese fleet began to turn for the shore. A cheer almost went up among the Portuguese sailors, but a hard look from Major Alfonso put them back to work as they cautiously began navigating the caravels towards the new land.

The first impression the Portuguese had of this country called Rakhine/ Arakan was not exactly welcoming, but nor was it the ambush many had secretly feared. As the sailors stepped onto the shore, they were greeted by a silent wall of warriors, each carrying one of those deadly-looking spears—hlan, Shaffa had figured out— and knives, which Shaffa soon figured out were called dhas. Behind them, some tall steps, lined by colourful men and women, led to a high stage on which sat a magnificent monarch on silk cushions, surrounded by even more armed men. He wore a red silk sarong around his waist with a white silk shirt and a golden sash across his shoulders, matching the thick gold chains around his neck and the bracelets up his arms. His fingers were heavy with rings, their gems glittering in the sunlight against his brown skin. He had a hawk-like nose over which he scrutinized the newcomers.

The warrior-leader of the long boats ushered Major Alfonso and Shaffa to the foot of the stage, and bowed his head, folding his hands before his chest. He said a few words, which neither Portuguese man caught, and pointed at the captain and his interpreter.

The monarch rose from his seat, and said something to the warrior. The warrior waved to Alfonso and Shaffa and pointed them up the stairs, allowing them to pass before setting his spear across the entrance, blocking the other Portuguese from following.

For a moment, Alfonso and Shaffa did not know what to do. Finally, the captain whispered, Say something.

Shaffa hoped his luck would hold out and folded his hands before him as he had seen the warrior do, saying, Greetings to you, great king. We come in peace, and we have brought you a gift. He pointed to the carved yellow box, still in the possession of one of the other warriors. The prince, trailed by his four guards, came down to his visitors, and was joined by Amal, to whom he said something, nodding at the two Portuguese men.

Amal spoke up. Our prince welcomes you to Rakhine/Arakan, his brother’s kingdom. This is our prince’s own territory, and he is the governor of Chittagong. You are at the mouth of the seaway to our Rakhine king’s great city of Mrauk U, where our king resides. This small seaport is one of our main gates to the capital. His palace is in Mrauk U, a city only a short sail along the Kaladan River, where you may find good trading. You are most welcome here.

Shaffa translated the message for Major Alfonso, and the Portuguese men bowed deeply and thanked the prince for his kindness. The prince acknowledged the bows and the thanks, and, sheltered under a golden parasol held by one of his guards, strolled off the stage into the sun, followed by his warriors. The silk-clad crowd of palace elders took this as their sign to disperse, and soon the Portuguese were left behind with only Amal and the great warrior from the boats.

The warrior spoke to Amal, who spoke to Alfonso and Shaffa. You are welcome here for the day. Our prince will see you tomorrow, but you are not allowed to come ashore in full military presence. We will meet at sunrise tomorrow, and then will the prince discuss trade.

Thus dismissed, Major Alfonso and Shaffa hurried back to the Portuguese ships with the other soldiers.

News of the successful meeting with these Rakhines swept the ship into an ecstatic frenzy. Songs were sung, dances were danced, and casks of wine were opened while the sun set on the white sands of the shore, turning sky and sand into a swirl of fiery red and orange.

In the captain’s cabin, the mood was also excited, but not without caution, as the captains and officers discussed their morning meeting.

Major Alfonso, Captain Antonio began, give us your honest opinion of the Rakhines.

Alfonso shrugged from his end of the captain’s table. There is little to say. They appear to be honest and friendly enough, and treated us with courtesy on their land, and there was no unkindness from the prince. It was perhaps lucky that Shaffa can speak a little Tamil. That seems to be the only language we have in common.

Next to Alfonso, Captain Gabriel, of the Santa Rosa, scowled. Captain Antonio, one of my sailors who went to shore reported that they were surrounded by armed warriors for the entire visit. He is certain they don’t trust us.

We had weapons pointed at each other. Our sailors with their cannons, the Rakhine with their spears. Suspicion of new people is perfectly natural. But we have to take some risk here. We are in their territory, and our mission is to establish friendship.

Admiral Jorge Pinto spoke up. Regardless of how they appear, we must always be prepared for potential hostilities. These Rakhines also appear to be excellent sea warriors.

Captain Antonio raised his hand