Rangoon was a grave. The roads of southern Burma were alive with miserable Indian thousands, in flight both from the Japanese and from long-knived Burmese nationalists. To every white man they saw, the Indians lifted dark hands, dark faces, and cried "Sahib! Sahib!" They cried for water, for money, for safety from the lurking dacoits who knifed and stripped the stragglers.
They cried in vain. The white men also were in flight from southern Burma. Some stayed in Rangoon, to shoot Burmese looters and hold to the last, until the Japs finally entered this week, the remnants of that golden...
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