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shouting that they were not to begin throwing yet. Then he stepped forward to address the Europeans.
He was a strong debonair fellow of about thirty, with down-curving moustaches, wearing a singlet,
with his longyi kilted to the knee.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Mr Macgregor repeated.
The man spoke up with a cheerful grin, and not very insolently.
‘We have no quarrel with you, min gyi. We have come for the timber merchant, Ellis.’ (He
pronounced it Ellit). ‘The boy whom he struck this morning has gone blind. You must send Ellit out to
us here, so that we can punish him. The rest of you will not be hurt.’
‘Just remember that fellow’s face,’ said Ellis over his shoulder to Flory. ‘We’ll get him seven years
for this afterwards.’
Mr Macgregor had turned temporarily quite purple. His rage was so great that it almost choked
him. For several moments he could not speak, and when he did so it was in English.
‘Whom do you think you are speaking to? In twenty years I have never heard such insolence! Go
away this instant, or I shall call out the Military Police!’
‘You had better be quick, mitt gyi. We know that there is no justice for us in your courts, so we
must punish Ellit ourselves. Send him out to us here. Otherwise, all of you will weep for it.’
Mr Macgregor made a furious motion with his fist, as though hammering in a nail. ‘Go away, son of
a dog!’ he cried, using his first oath in many years.
There was a thunderous roar from the road, and such a shower of stones that everyone was hit,
including the Burmans on the path. One stone took Mr Macgregor full in the face, almost knocking him
down. The Europeans bolted hastily inside and barred the door. Mr Macgregor’s spectacles were
smashed and his nose streaming blood. They got back to the lounge to find Mrs Lackersteen looping
about in one of the long chairs like a hysterical snake, Mr Lackersteen standing irresolutely in the
middle of the room, holding an empty bottle, the butler on his knees in the corner, crossing himself (he
was a Roman Catholic), the chokras crying, and only Elizabeth calm, though she was very pale.
‘What’s happened?’ she exclaimed.
‘We’re in the soup, that’s what’s happened!’ said Ellis angrily, feeling at the back of his neck where
a stone had hit him. ‘The Burmans are all round, shying rocks. But keep calm! They haven’t the guts to
break the doors in.’
‘Call out the police at once!’ said Mr Macgregor indistinctly, for he was stanching his nose with his
handkerchief.
‘Can’t!’ said Ellis. ‘I was looking round while you were talking to them. They’ve cut us off, rot
their damned souls! No one could possibly get to the police lines. Veraswami’s compound is full of
men.’
‘Then we must wait. We can trust them to turn out of their own accord. Calm yourself, my dear Mrs
Lackersteen, please calm yourself! The danger is very small.’
It did not sound small. There were no gaps in the noise now, and the Burmans seemed to be pouring
into the compound by hundreds. The din swelled suddenly to such a volume that no one could make
himself heard except by shouting. All the windows in the lounge had been shut, and some perforated
zinc shutters within, which were sometimes used for keeping out insects, pulled to and bolted. There