The mules having returned and had some hours’ rest, there was nothing now which need delay the travellers’ departure from the village; but Oscar wished to see a little more of the Karen apostle before starting for Moulmein. After partaking of breakfast with his wife, Mr. Coldstream quitted the hut, and went in search of Ko Thah Byu. On inquiring where he could be found, one of the peasants directed Coldstream to a small clump of bushes with the remark, “Ko Thah Byu read—pray—alone.” Though hesitating a little as to whether he should intrude on the solitude of the Karen preacher, Oscar yet overcame his scruples, as another opportunity for conversation with his preserver might not occur. Coldstream found Ko Thah Byu seated on a large mossy stone, with his Bible on his knee; he was in the act of closing the holy book when the Englishman appeared, and the Karen rose to meet him.
“I have not yet thanked you, as I now do from my heart,” said Mr. Coldstream, “for my own preservation, and, far more, for that of my wife. Only show me how I can prove my gratitude. Is there anything that I can offer—”
An expressive movement of the native’s brown hand, and a contraction of his brow, made Mr. Coldstream pause. Oscar felt that it would be as impossible to press gold on this moneyless Karen as upon a European noble. It was scarcely necessary for Ko Thah Byu to express his thoughts in words, though he did so with a native dignity which gave them force. “Ko Thah Byu wants nothing from his white brother. Ko Thah Byu did only his duty. Keep money for those who need.”
“I should like to have a little conversation with you, my friend,” said Mr. Coldstream, seating himself on the trunk of a felled tree which happened to be near, and motioning to the Karen to resume his former seat. “I should like to know something of your former history; I desire to hear what it was that first led to God one whom I regard as one of the noblest of men.”
“The noblest of men!” repeated Ko Thah Byu with an emphasis of scorn that had in it something almost savage. “The sahib knows not of whom he speaks. The noblest of men!” again repeated the Karen. “A few summers past, if the demons of hell had been asked, ‘Who is blacker than we? who should have a deeper place in the pit?’ the demons would have clapped their hands and yelled out, ‘Ko Thah Byu!’” Then the fierce expression on the Karen’s stern features strangely softened, and his voice became soft as a woman’s as he went on, “And now if the angels in heaven be asked, ‘Who should praise most of all? who should wet Christ’s feet with most tears, and kiss them with most exceeding great love?’ the angels would lift up their hands and cry, ‘Ko Thah Byu! Ko Thah Byu! for he has been most forgiven!’”
“Can this be so?” exclaimed Oscar Coldstream: “were you, before your conversion, so much worse than other men?”
“In childhood Ko Thah Byu was wicked—ungovernable,” was the reply. “The sapling was crooked, bent, and black; what could the tree become? Even now Ko Thah Byu has in his heart a fierce wild beast that is chained, but which too often breaks his chain, and then men wonder that the Karen Christian should be so unlike his Master.”3
Coldstream looked at the Oriental’s rugged features and flashing eyes, and could imagine how formidable his bursts of passion might be if not tamed down and subdued by grace.
“Ko T............