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Title: Siam and Laos - as seen by our American Missionaries
Author: Various
Language: English
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[Illustration: SIAM AND LAOS]
[Illustration: HIS SUPREME MAJESTY, CHULALANGKORN I., KING OF SIAM.
_Frontispiece._]
SIAM AND LAOS,
AS SEEN BY
OUR AMERICAN MISSIONARIES.
“Siam has not been disciplined by English and French guns, like China,
but the country has been opened by missionaries.”――_Remark of His
Grace the late Ex-Regent of Siam._
FULLY ILLUSTRATED.
PHILADELPHIA:
PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION,
No. 1334 CHESTNUT STREET.
COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY
THE TRUSTEES OF THE
PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION.
_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED._
WESTCOTT & THOMSON,
_Stereotypers and Electrotypers, Philada._
PREFACE.
This volume is a response to calls for information on Siam and Laos. A
score of missionaries have contributed chapters. Some have written
amidst conflicting claims of the crowded field-life; others, during
brief visits to the home-land; several are children of missionaries
and were born in Indo-China; others are noble pioneer workers, whose
long years of service abroad are now ended. A few of the chapters
originally appeared in a missionary periodical. Two of the writers
have “entered into rest.” The editor is much indebted also to the
standard works of Pallegoix, Bowring, Crawford, Mouhot and several
more recent travelers, to geographical papers and official reports,
and to valuable original data furnished by Dr. House, Dr. Cheek and
others.
Adaptation and necessary condensation of the information thus gathered
make special credit often impossible, but doubtful points have been
verified by reference to competent authority, so far as practicable.
The contributions of our missionaries have special value. For years
they have been brought into close contact with the people in their
homes, schools, wats and markets, mingling as honored guests in social
gatherings and at official ceremonials, enjoying full opportunity of
studying the natives at work, at play and at worship. As teachers,
physicians, translators and trusted counselors they are recognized as
public benefactors by the king and many high officials. Siam owes the
introduction of printing, European literature, vaccination, modern
medical practice, surgery and many useful mechanical appliances to our
American missionaries. They have stimulated philosophical inquiry,
paved the way for foreign intercourse with civilized nations, given a
great shock to the grosser forms of idolatry among the more
enlightened, leavened the social and intellectual ideas of the “Young
Siam” party, and, almost imperceptibly, but steadily, undermined the
old hopeless Buddhist theories with the regenerating force of gospel
truth.
The young king publicly testified on a late occasion: “The American
missionaries have lived in Siam a long time; they have been noble men
and women, and have put their hearts into teaching the people, old and
young, that which is good, and also various arts beneficial to my
kingdom and people. Long may they live, and never may they leave us!”
May this volume aid in arousing a more intelligent and generous
interest in this field――the sacred trust of our American Presbyterian
Church; may it promote a truer sense of the heroic sacrifices, the
patient and multiplied labors, of the noble band who for the past half
century have toiled and waited in hope for the spiritual regeneration
of the Siamese and Laos!
SCHENECTADY, May, 1884.
N. B. Uniformity in the spelling of Siamese and Laos proper
names is not yet attainable. Different ears catch the
foreign sounds and transliterate them differently, giving an
endless variation. Thus the single city which we give as
Cheung Mai, following Dr. Cheek, may be found in books and
maps as Cheng Mai, Cheang Mai, Zimma, Chang Mai, etc. To
ascertain the pronunciation in such cases, see what one
pronunciation can be made to cover all of these spellings.
It is hoped that the present volume is a step in the
direction of a correct transliteration of Siamese names.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
SIAM.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE INDO-CHINESE PENINSULA. _An Introductory Sketch._ 15
CHAPTER II.
SIGHT-SEEING IN BANGKOK. _Mrs. S. R. House, formerly
of Bangkok._ 81
CHAPTER III.
TOURING IN SIAM. _Mrs. S. R. House, formerly of Bangkok._ 96
CHAPTER IV.
IN AND ABOUT PETCHABUREE. _Miss Sarah Coffman, Petchaburee._ 112
CHAPTER V.
ANIMALS OF SIAM. _Mrs. S. R. House, Bangkok._ 120
CHAPTER VI.
THE CHINESE IN SIAM. _Mrs. N. A. McDonald, Bangkok._ 145
PART II.
VARIETIES OF SIAMESE LIFE.
CHAPTER VII.
A SIAMESE WEDDING. _Mrs. J. W. Van Dyke, Petchaburee._ 162
CHAPTER VIII.
HOUSEKEEPING IN SIAM. _Miss M. L. Cort, Petchaburee._ 175
CHAPTER IX.
CHILD-LIFE IN SIAM. _Miss H. H. McDonald, Bangkok._ 184
CHAPTER X.
FIRST HAIR-CUTTING OF A YOUNG SIAMESE.
_Samuel R. House, M. D., Bangkok._ 193
CHAPTER XI.
THE SCHOOLS OF SIAM. _Mrs. S. G. McFarland, Bangkok._ 206
CHAPTER XII.
HOLIDAYS IN SIAM. _Mrs. S. R. House, Bangkok._ 224
CHAPTER XIII.
A GAMBLING ESTABLISHMENT.
_The late D. Bradley, M. D., Bangkok._ 233
CHAPTER XIV.
SIAMESE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF MEDICINE.
_E. A. Sturge, M. D., Petchaburee._ 236
CHAPTER XV.
CHOLERA-TIMES IN BANGKOK. _Samuel R. House, M.D._ 241
CHAPTER XVI.
SIAMESE CUSTOMS FOR THE DYING AND DEAD.
_The late D. Bradley, M. D., of Bangkok._ 247
CHAPTER XVII.
THE WATS OF SIAM. _A Compilation._ 269
PART III.
HISTORICAL SKETCHES.
CHAPTER XVIII.
HISTORICAL SKETCH OF SIAM.
_Rev. Eugene P. Dunlap, Petchaburee._ 304
CHAPTER XIX.
MISSIONARY LADIES IN THE KING’S PALACE.
_Mrs. Mattoon, formerly of Bangkok._ 320
CHAPTER XX.
CORONATION OF HIS MAJESTY THE SUPREME KING OF SIAM.
_Rev. N. A. McDonald, Bangkok._ 338
CHAPTER XXI.
HISTORY OF THE MISSIONS IN SIAM AND LAOS.
_Samuel R. House, M. D., Bangkok._ 351
PART IV.
LAOS.
CHAPTER XXII.
LAOS LAND AND LIFE. _Mrs. S. C. Perkins, Philadelphia._ 419
CHAPTER XXIII.
FROM BANGKOK TO CHEUNG MAI.
_Mrs. Jonathan Wilson, Cheung Mai._ 460
CHAPTER XXIV.
RECOLLECTIONS OF CHEUNG MAI.
_Miss Emelie McGilvary, Cheung Mai._ 479
CHAPTER XXV.
A DAY AT CHEUNG MAI. _Mrs. Jonathan Wilson, Cheung Mai._ 491
CHAPTER XXVI.
A LAOS CABIN. _Rev. Jonathan Wilson, Cheung Mai._ 497
CHAPTER XXVII.
SUPERSTITIONS OF THE LAOS. _Dr. and Mrs. Cheek, Cheung Mai._ 504
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TREATMENT OF THE SICK. _M. R. Cheek, M. D., Cheung Mai._ 511
CHAPTER XXIX.
A TOUR IN THE LAOS COUNTRY.
_The late G. W. Vrooman, M. D., Cheung Mai._ 525
CHAPTER XXX.
CHINA TO BRITISH INDIA, VIA CHEUNG MAI.
_M. A. Cheek, M. D., Cheung Mai._ 543
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
HIS SUPREME MAJESTY, CHULALANGKORN I., KING OF SIAM. _Frontispiece._
BURMESE TEMPLE 23
RUINS OF A PAGODA AT AYUTHIA 29
SIAMESE GENTLEMAN IN MODERN COURT-DRESS 32
SIAMESE LADY IN MODERN COURT-DRESS 33
VIEW OF PAKNAM, ON THE MENAM 37
PORT OF CHANTABOON 41
LION ROCK, AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE PORT OF CHANTABOON 44
TYPES OF WOMEN OF FARTHER INDIA 57
SCENE ON AN ORIENTAL RIVER 65
THE BREAD-FRUIT 72
THE LOTUS 74
BIRD OF PARADISE 77
MONKEYS PLAYING WITH A CROCODILE 79
BANGKOK, ON THE MENAM 83
HOUSE-SPARROW 84
FLOATING STORES AT BANGKOK 89
MISSIONARY-BOAT FOR TOURING IN SIAM 97
PRABAT 103
HOUSE AT PETCHABUREE 113
VIEW OF THE MOUNTAINS OF PETCHABUREE 116
MONKEYS 121
JAVA SPARROWS 122
THE COBRA 123
HUNTING THE CROCODILE 127
ELEPHANTS AT HOME 129
AN ELEPHANT PLOUGHING 131
THE WHITE ELEPHANT 141
HOME OF RICH CHINAMAN 146
CHINESE BOAT-PEOPLE 151
CHINESE CEMETERY 152
PAPER PRAYERS 155
PARLOR OF CHINESE HOUSE 156
MISSION-HOUSE 171
SIAMESE LADIES DINING 179
A YOUNG SIAMESE PRINCE 189
A CHINESE STREET-SHOW 191
REMOVAL OF THE TUFT OF A YOUNG SIAMESE 195
A SCHOOL IN SIAM 215
A FEW OF THE CHILDREN OF THE LATE FIRST KING OF SIAM 223
CARRYING THE KING TO THE TEMPLE 231
SIAMESE ACTRESS 234
CREMATION TEMPLE: A TEMPORARY BUILDING 251
TOMB OF A BONZE 263
BANYAN TREE 270
SIAMESE TEMPLE 271
TEMPLE AT AYUTHIA 275
MONASTERY OF WAT SISAKET 277
BRASS IDOL IN A TEMPLE AT BANGKOK 279
THE GREAT TOWER OF THE PAGODA WAT CHEUG 283
BUDDHIST PRIEST 285
BUDDHIST PRIESTS GATHERING FOOD 295
RUINS OF A TEMPLE AND STATUE AT AYUTHIA 303
ATTACHÉ OF SIAMESE EMBASSY: COURT-COSTUME IN 1883 313
THE LATE FIRST KING AND QUEEN 323
SOMDETCH CHOWFA CHULALANGKORN 339
HALL OF AUDIENCE, PALACE OF BANGKOK 341
BRAHMAN AT WORSHIP 345
CORONATION OF A LAOS KING 421
A LAOS FUNERAL 429
TAPPING THE BORASSUS PALM 449
A LAOS HOME 499
CAMPING IN A LAOS FOREST 529
SIAM AND LAOS.
PART I.
SIAM.
CHAPTER I.
_THE INDO-CHINESE PENINSULA._
When about to visit a foreign country the prudent traveler is careful
to seek in guidebooks and from maps some data in regard to its
position, prominent features and relation to adjacent regions. Such
information adds interest to each stage of his journey. Climbing a
mountain, he overlooks two kingdoms. Such a valley opens into a rich
mining district; the highlanders of that range are descendants of the
original lords of the soil; the navigability of this river is of
commercial importance as a possible trade-route.
In like manner, bold outlines of the whole peninsula furnish the best
introduction to a careful study of Central Indo-China, showing the
trade-connection of Northern Laos with Burmah and the richest mining
province of China, and the relation of Siamese progress to certain
Asiatic commercial problems. New views also are thus gained of the
great work actually accomplished by our American missionaries for
science and civilization in this corner of the globe during their
self-imposed exile of half a century.
Indo-China is the south-east corner of Asia, a sharply-defined,
two-pronged peninsula outjutting from China just below the Tropic of
Cancer, its long Malayan arm almost touching the equator, bounded
east, south and west by water. Southward, the Eastern Archipelago
stretches toward Australia, “a kind of Giants’ Causeway by means of
which a mythological Titan might have crossed from one continent to
another.”
Along the north the extreme south-west angle of the Celestial Empire,
by name Yunnan, lies in immediate contact with the Burmese, the Laos
and the Tonquinese frontiers, whence the main rivers of the peninsula
divide their streams.
YUNNAN may be regarded as a lower terrace projecting from the giant
Thibetan plateau――an extensive, uneven table-land, separated for the
most part by mountains from contiguous regions. The northern portion
is a confused tangle of lofty ranges, with peaks rising above the
snowline, and few inhabited valleys――a region, in a word, compared to
which Switzerland is an easy plain――of wild romantic scenery, ravines,
torrents and landslips, but with little industry or commerce. Maize is
used for food throughout the sparsely-populated district, since rice
cannot be cultivated at such altitudes. The main ranges have a
north-and-south trend, subsiding some thousand feet before reaching
the Indo-Chinese frontier. Parallel to the lower south and south-east
chains of mountains are a series of rich upland valleys, each basin
supplied with its own watercourse or lake, and tenanted more or less
densely by the busy villages situated near the water. Rice, pepper and
the poppy are extensively cultivated.
The choicest portion of this province lies within the open angle
formed by the divergence of four large rivers――viz. “the Yangtse,
taking its course due north, till, bending to the east, it makes its
final exit into the Chinese Sea at Shanghai; the Mekong, pursuing a
tortuous course south to the China Sea near Saigon; the Si-Kiang,
originating near the capital of the province, flows due east to
Canton; while a fourth, the Songkoi, or ‘Red River,’ goes south-east
to Hanoi and the Gulf of Tonquin. A central position amidst such
mighty waterways and with so wide a circumference of outside
communication indicates the great importance of the district either
for administration or trade――a fact early appreciated by the sagacity
of the Chinese, who as far back as the third century established
fortified colonies among the then savage and recalcitrant tribes of
Yunnan. For export Yunnan has three capital products to offer――opium,
tea and metals. The opium-yielding poppy grows almost everywhere. The
celebrated tea of the south-east is in great request, being considered
by the Chinese themselves superior to all other qualities of tea
throughout the empire. Its cultivation offers no difficulties, the
high price it commands outside of the region being solely due to the
costliness of transport. But it is the metal-trade which will in all
probability be the prominent feature of commerce. The great tin-mines
have supplied the whole of China from time immemorial; copper abounds
throughout the province; lead, gold, silver, iron, and last, but not
least, coal, make up the list. Curiously enough, the vast Chinese
empire includes no other truly metalliferous province except the
bordering region of Western Ssu-ch’nan, geologically, though not
administratively, a part of Yunnan; nothing but the inaccessibility,
and too-often disturbed and lawless condition, of the country has thus
far hindered its mines from becoming sources of really incalculable
wealth to the province, to the Chinese empire at large, and, by
participation, to foreign commerce.”
The affluent circumstances of the peasantry in the southern districts
are in marked contrast with those of the north. The women do not
compress their feet. Many of the men bear the Muslim’s physique and
features. Indeed, before the merciless massacre of the Panthays,
Mohammedans formed the majority of the population. But the last
quarrel, begun by miners in 1855, only ended in 1874 by wellnigh the
extermination of the entire Muslim community. Mounted expresses were
despatched to seventy-two districts with instructions to the principal
mandarins from the governor of the province. Families were surprised
and butchered by night, their homes sacked and mosques burned. A cry
of horror ran from village to village. The Mohammedans rushed to arms,
collecting in vast numbers, and upward of a million Chinese were
killed in revenge. In the end the Panthays were crushed out, but more
than one-fourth of the inhabitants of Yunnan had perished or
emigrated. Plague and famine followed the great rebellion and
fearfully devastated the whole region, which is only now slowly
recovering its former prosperity.
The aboriginal inhabitants of Yunnan are apparently of the same stock
as the Laos, just across the border. The variety of their clans and
picturesque costumes recalls the wild Highlanders of Scotland.
The chief lack of Yunnan is good roads. Going east or west, the
highways run up the ridge, over the saddle or watershed, and dip down
into another valley, and this up-and-down process must be repeated
from town to town; ravines must be crossed, torrents must be bridged,
and often the narrow causeway lies along the side of a precipice or
the ascent may be some hundred feet up the face of a mountain.
Merchandise crossing the Laos frontier must be carried long distances
at an enormous cost. Thus the celebrated so-called Puekr tea of
North-eastern Laos, just a little south of the Yunnan border, while
freely used by the peasantry of that province, is too expensive by the
time it reaches the nearest Chinese port to export to Russia or
Europe. Yet the amount of goods and produce that move to and fro _viâ_
Szmao, the last Chinese administration town, to Laos, and _viâ_ Cheung
Mai to Burmah, is surprising,――thus affording the best possible
guarantee for an increased amount to follow were only communication
facilitated. Railroad communication for an overland route is warmly
advocated. “From Yunnan,” as Baron Richthoren puts it, “the elongated
ridges of the Indo-Chinese peninsula (the land of the Burmese, Malays,
Siamese, Laos and Cochin-Chinese) stretch southward as fingers from
the palms of a hand.”
The configuration of the peninsula is easily remembered as separated
by longitudinal belts of hills, spurs from the northern ranges, into
principal basins, or funnels, for the rich drainage of the surrounding
highlands, _viâ_ Burmah, or the basin of the Irawaddy; the valley of
the Menam and that of the Cambodia or Mekong River; and Tonquin,
connected by a narrow coast-strip with the French delta.
The fluvial system of each of these great valleys is dominated by one
important river, whose downward course is more or less impeded by
cataracts, until the upper plateaux gradually subside into undulating
tracts, which increase in width and levelness as they approach the
several deltas. Throughout Indo-China these waterways, with their
intersecting streams and canals, are the main highways of population,
commerce and travel. Native villages often consist of one long
water-street running through a perfect jungle of palms and other
tropical trees, the little bamboo huts and the wats nearly hidden in
the foliage. Boats are used instead of carts, carriages or cars. In
the upland districts buffaloes and elephants are used; but, with the
exception of the pack-peddlers and caravans at certain seasons, the
traveler off the waterways would rarely meet any trace of human life.
I. THE FIRST BASIN――BURMAH.
The westernmost basin embraces the kingdom of Ava, ruled by a most
cruel native autocrat, and the three British provinces of Lower
Burmah, governed by a chief commissioner residing at Rangoon and
subject to the viceroy of India at Calcutta.
What is known of Burmah is chiefly embraced in the valley of the
Irawaddy. This large stream, rising in Thibet, flows almost due south
some twelve hundred miles, receiving tributaries east and west, and
communicating by numerous branches with the Salween, running parallel
on the east, but almost useless for travel, owing to its rapids.
[Illustration: BURMESE TEMPLE.]
The Burmese delta (a network of intercommunicating waters from the
Indian border-ranges to the banks of the Salween near the Siamese
frontier) has some fourteen outlets, but most of these are obstructed
by sandbars and coral-reefs. Bassein and Rangoon are the seagoing
ports. The latter is a large city of over one hundred thousand
inhabitants, and now ranks third in commercial importance in the
Indian empire. This plain from the coast to Prome is subject to
periodical inundations and is exceedingly productive. It is a great
rice-district. Below the northern frontier of British Burmah the
Irawaddy is nearly three miles broad. In the neighborhood of Prome the
face of the country changes. Ranges of lofty mountains approach nearer
and nearer, and finally close in on the stream, the banks becoming
precipitous and the valley narrowing to three-quarters of a mile.
Above the latitude of Ava the whole region is intersected by
mountains, and not far from Mandalay, the capital of Upper Burmah, is
their lowest defile. The banks at this point are covered with dense
vegetation and slope down to the water’s edge. Still ascending the
river, before reaching Bhamo one enters an exceedingly picturesque
defile, the stream winding in perfect stillness under high bare rocks
rising sheer out of the water. The current of the upper defile above
Bhamo is very rapid, and the return waters occasion violent eddies.
When the water is at its lowest no bottom is found even at forty
fathoms.
For centuries the Irawaddy has furnished the sole means of
communication between the seaboard and interior. The Irawaddy Flotilla
Company, started in 1868, employs over one thousand hands, and sends
twice each week magnificent iron-clad steamers with large flats
attached to Mandalay. The time-distance between the two capitals is
greater than from New York to Liverpool. Smaller vessels go on to
Bhamo. The native craft are estimated at eight thousand. The rapid
increase of trade along this river attracts colonists and has greatly
enriched British Burmah.
Bhamo, on the left bank, near the confluence of the Taping and close
to valuable coal-mines, is within a few miles of the Chinese frontier.
The old trade-route noted by Marco Polo is still in use, but the
ranges to be crossed, the great cost of land-carriage, together with
the dangerous neighborhood of the Kachyen banditti, render the road of
limited avail for trade-purposes beyond the fertile Taping valley. The
China Inland Mission and the American Baptists have stations at Bhamo.
The Rangoon-Prome railroad was opened in 1878. The Rangoon-Toungoo
line will be in use this year, following the Sittang valley to the
borders of Siam. British capitalists have now under contemplation a
road crossing from Maulmain to Cheung Mai, a distance of about one
hundred and sixty miles, with only one comparatively low hill-chain
east of the Salween River. A terminus at Cheung Mai would create an
increased traffic, leading to a further extension _viâ_ Kiang Kung to
Szmao on the Yunnanese frontier, a distance roughly estimated at two
hundred and forty miles, with no intervening mountain-system. Although
as yet untraveled by European exploration, this track is in use by the
native caravans, and the projected railroad will open a most important
exchange market with millions of well-to-do, industrious inhabitants,
occupying some of the richest mining and agricultural districts of
Southern Asia.
The official census report of Burmah states: “There is possibly no
country in the world whose inhabitants are more varied in race,
customs and language. There are said to be as many as forty-seven
different tribes in the narrow boundaries of the two Burmahs, but
these may be classed under four――Peguans, Burmese, Karens and Shans or
Laos. The Peguans seem to have first occupied the country. The Burmese
followed, and took possession of the plains and valleys of Upper and
Lower Burmah. Their language is used in the English courts of justice,
and is probably destined to be the prevailing language of the country.
The Laos, occupying the north-eastern plateaux skirting the Chinese
border, are from a great trunk of uncertain root which appears to have
been derived originally from Yunnan, where the main stem still retains
its primitive designation of La’o――a name commonly exchanged for
’shan’ in the language of the modern Burmese and English writers. The
Karens, scattered along the Siamese frontiers, are various tribes
having their own customs, dialects and religion. They have a tradition
that when they left Central Asia they were accompanied by a younger
brother, who traveled faster, went directly east and founded the
Chinese empire. Before the British acquired Lower Burmah these simple
mountaineers were subjected to brutal persecutions. So late as 1851
the Burmese viceroy told Mr. Kincaid that he ‘would instantly shoot
the first Karens he found that could read.’”
The Karens live among the vast forests, now in one and anon in another
valley, clearing a little patch for rice-fields and gardens, their
upland rice and cotton furnishing food and clothing and the
mountain-streams fish in abundance. They seldom remain more than two
seasons in one spot, and all through the jungles are found abandoned
Karen hamlets, where rank weeds and young bamboo-shoots supplant the
cultivated fields.
II. THE SECOND BASIN――SIAM.
The river Menam (or Meinam) is formed by the union of streams from the
north. About halfway in its course mountains close upon the river,
which passes from the upper plateaux of Laos into the valley of Siam
proper through some of the finest mountain-scenery in the world.
The rich alluvial plain of Siam is estimated at about four hundred and
fifty miles in length by fifty miles average breadth. The main stream,
above Rahany, is known as the Maping. Below the rocky defiles the
river divides several times, and contains some larger and smaller
islands; Ayuthia is built on one of the latter. The founding of this
city, about 1350 A. D., was one of the most memorable events in
Siamese history. In 1766 the Burmese depopulated the country and
burned Ayuthia. A new dynasty, with Bangkok for the capital, was
founded about a century ago.
Bangkok, sometimes called “the Venice of the Orient,” is the Siamese
metropolis――the first city in size, wealth and political importance.
Old Bangkok is changing rapidly. European fashions and architecture
are introduced among the nobility and wealthy. The new palace is a
mixture of European architectural styles, retaining the characteristic
Siamese roof. The furniture is on a most costly scale, having been
imported from England, it is stated, at an expense of some
seventy-five thousand pounds. The large library is filled with books
in several languages and furnished with all the leading European and
American periodicals. The royal guards are in European uniform, but
barefooted, only the officers being permitted to wear boots. In the
surrounding area are courts and rows of two-storied white buildings,
the barracks, mint, museum and pavilions. The entrance to the
throne-room is up a fine marble staircase lined with ferns, palms and
plants. The throne-room is a long hall hung with fine oil paintings
and adorned with costly busts of famous personages. The spacious
drawing-room adjoining is furnished in the most luxurious European
style.
[Illustration: RUINS OF A PAGODA AT AYUTHIA.]
The palace of the second king (named George Washington by his father,
who was a great admirer of our celebrated American statesman) is also
European in many of its appointments, with mirrors, pictures and
English and French furniture. This prince, still in the prime of
middle life, devotes a great part of his time to scientific pursuits,
and has collected in his palace much machinery, including a small
steam-engine built by himself. He is fond of entertaining European
guests in European style; his reception-room is brilliantly
illuminated with innumerable little cocoanut-oil lamps.
The Krung Charoon, or main highway of Bangkok, is several miles in
length, and used by the nobility and foreigners for driving, except
during the high tide of the river, when it is often partly under
water. The liveliest quarters in the capital are those mainly occupied
by the Chinese, with their eating-houses, pawnbrokers’ and drug-shops
and the ubiquitous gambling establishments, and with a Chinese
_waiang_, or theatre, near by.
The finest view of the city and its surroundings is from the summit of
Wat Sikhet.
The summer palace recently erected by His Majesty, a few miles below
Ayuthia, is a large building in semi-European style, standing amid
lovely parks and gardens, ornamented with fountains and statuary, with
streams spanned by bridges, and a fine lake with an island on which is
built a most delightful Siamese summer-house. The royal wat (temple)
opposite this palace is a pure Gothic building fitted with regular
pews and a handsome stained-glass window.
“There are a few houses in Bangkok, occupied by the ‘upper ten,’ built
of stone and brick, but those of the middle classes are of wood, while
the habitations of the poor are constructed of light bamboos and
roofed with leaves of the atap palm. Fires are frequent, and from the
combustible character of the erections hundreds of habitations are
often destroyed. But in a few days the mischief is generally repaired,
for on such occasions friends and neighbors lend a willing hand.”
Some of the entertainments of the nobility are in the European style.
Miss Coffman describes one given to the foreign residents by the
Kromatah, or minister of foreign affairs, to celebrate the birthday of
the young king: “The city was illuminated. We left home about eight
and returned at eleven P. M. In front of the house was latticework
with an archway brilliantly illuminated. A strip of brussels carpet
was laid from the archway to the steps. The house was elegantly
furnished in foreign style. In the reception-room were three
flower-stands, the centre one of silver and the other two glass, each
having little fountains playing. The sofas and chairs were cushioned
with blue silk. An excellent band discoursed harmonious music, and on
the arrival of His Majesty a salute was fired.”
[Illustration: SIAMESE GENTLEMAN IN MODERN COURT-DRESS.]
The dress and habits of the court-circles have undergone an entire
revolution within the last few years. The men wear neat linen, collar
and cravat; an English dress-coat, with the native p’anoong arranged
much like knickerbockers; shoes and stockings. The court-dress of a
Siamese lady consists of a neat, closely-fitting jacket, finished at
throat and wrists with frills of white muslin and lace, and a p’anoong
similar to that worn by the men. The artistic arrangement of the scarf
is a matter of much importance. Before a new one is worn the plaits
are carefully laid and the shawl placed in a damp cloth and pounded
with a mallet till it is dry. This fixes the folds so that they last
as long as the fabric, and also gives a pretty gloss to the goods.
Since the introduction of the jacket, instead of the many chains they
wear valuable belts of woven gold with jeweled buckles, and instead of
a number of rings on every finger, fewer and more valuable gems.
[Illustration: SIAMESE LADY IN MODERN COURT-DRESS.]
It is difficult for a stranger to distinguish a woman of the lower
classes from a man, as in dress, manner, appearance and occupation
they seem so much alike. The streets, the marketplaces and the temples
are crowded with women. Housekeeping and needlework form so small a
part of female labor here that much opportunity is given for
out-of-door work.
John Chinaman too is everywhere in Bangkok, and at the floating
Chinese eating-shops or little boats a simple meal of rice, curry and
fish can be had for a few cents.
The king’s garden is thrown open once a week to the public, and an
excellent native band plays for several hours.
Progress marks the condition of things in Bangkok. The young king is
one of the most advanced sovereigns of Eastern Asia. He has made a
study of the laws and institutions of Western civilization, and has a
manly ambition to make the most of his country. All foreigners who
meet him speak well of him. He is bright, amiable and courteous in his
personal intercourse, and devotes much time to state business,
assisted by his brother and private secretary, usually called Prince
Devan, who, though young, has the reputation of being a keen,
thoughtful statesman. A younger brother is at present being educated
at Oxford. The king is a little over thirty, slight in figure, erect,
with fine eyes and fair complexion for a Siamese. He was born on the
22d of September, 1853, and came to the throne when only fifteen years
of age.
Paknam is situated near the entrance of the eastern mouth, an
extensive mud-flat obliging the largest vessels to find anchorage on
the open roadstead at the head of the gulf. Five miles above Paknam is
Paklatlang, the entrance of the canal which shortens one-half the
distance by river from Bangkok. This canal, however, is only available
for small boats. A carriage-road runs from Bangkok to Paknam, some
twenty-five miles, and here is the custom-house and port of Bangkok.
The last division of the Menam occurs below Bangkok, and the river
finally disgorges itself by three mouths into the gulf.
Two rivers from the west fall into the middle and westernmost
mouths――the Sachen, with its towns and villages, sugar-plantations and
mills scattered all along its elegant flexions, connecting by canals
with the Menam east and the Meklong west; and the Meklong, an
independent stream from the Karen country, flowing through a narrow
but extremely fertile valley in which hills and plains of some extent
alternate. The capital of the province is situated at the junction of
the canal――a town of twenty to thirty thousand inhabitants, noted as
the birthplace of the Siamese Twins.
The “Sam-ra-yot,” or Three Hundred Peaks, separate Siam from Burmah.
This chain consists of a series of bold conical hills, extremely
ragged on their flanks and covered with immense teak-forests
stretching hundreds of miles over mountains and valleys. The noted
pass of the Three Pagodas across this range follows a branch known as
the Meklong Nee to the last Karen town on the Siamese frontier, thence
on foot or elephants across the summit to the head-waters of the
Ataran, and by canoes, shooting the rapids, a somewhat abrupt descent,
to Maulmein.
[Illustration: VIEW OF PAKNAM ON THE MENAM.]
Petchaburee, on the western side of the gulf, near the foot of this
range, is a sanitarium for natives and Europeans. Here is the
Presbyterian mission compound, and on the summit of a neighboring hill
is the king’s summer palace. The Tavoy road leads through this town.
The Laotian captives who built the royal palace are settled in
villages all over the Petchaburee valley; “their bamboo huts with
tent-like roofs, thatched with long dried grass, rise from the expanse
of level plain among fruit and palm trees like green islands in the
sea.” Each hut has its well-tilled kitchen-garden, its tobacco- and
cotton-plot. The latter, dyed with vegetable and mineral substances,
the women weave on their own looms for family use. With the exception
of a few Chinese articles, everything about these hamlets is of native
make. The Laotian serfs are superior to the Siamese physically, and
have more force of character.
The Malay peninsula projects from the Isthmus of Kraw (lat. 10° N.),
six or seven hundred miles to Cape Romania, opposite Singapore. If the
estuaries between the Pakshan and Chomphon Rivers are ever united by a
ship-canal, the peninsula would be put where it ethnically and
geographically belongs, as one of the islands of the Eastern
Archipelago.
Much of the peninsula is still one of the unexplored portions of the
globe. The rich stanniferous granite of the rocky spine running from
Kraw Point to the alluvial plain at the south is probably the most
extensive storehouse of tin in the world. Across the mountains there
are scarcely anywhere beaten tracks, and the natural passes between
the coasts are mostly overgrown with jungles. Numerous hot springs and
frequent earthquakes attest the presence of active igneous forces.
Coal has been recently discovered near Kraw Point. Gold and silver are
associated with the tin, and iron abounds in the south.
Apart from the Chinese immigrants, who here, as elsewhere, monopolize
trade, the inhabitants may be classed under three heads――the
fullblooded Siamese of the North; the Samsams, or mixed Malay and
Siamese population; and the southern Malays, subdivided into the rude
aborigines, who inhabit the wooded uplands of Malacca, and the more
cultivated Mohammedan Malays, who under the influence, first of the
Hindoos and then of the Arabs, have developed a national life and
culture and formed states in various parts of the Archipelago. They
are migratory in their habits, and perhaps come next to the Chinese as
sailors and traders and in the spirit of adventure. Like most
followers of the False Prophet, they are devoutly attached to their
faith, though in all other respects they readily accommodate
themselves to the social usages of the Siamese and Chinese. They wear
turbans and loose trousers and carry a bent poignard. Though not a
quarrelsome race, when excited they become reckless and ferocious. For
a long time this Malay race was classed as an independent division of
mankind, but is now considered as affiliated with the Mongol stock,
closely resembling the Siamese. The Malayan tongue, with its simple
structure and easy acquirement, is a valuable instrument of
communication throughout the whole of Farther India.
The Bang Pakong, thirty miles east of Paknam, has its sources in the
Cambodian Mountains and drains a highly-productive country. Sugar and
rice are extensively cultivated along its banks. Bang Pasoi, its port,
has a considerable trade with the interior. A delightful view of the
surrounding country may be enjoyed from a small mountain south of the
town. To the west are extensive salt-works, the sea being let into
large flats enclosed by embankments and left to evaporate with the
heat of the sun. Cartroads lead off to the neighboring villages, to
Anghin, and thence to Chantaboon, five or six days’ journey. Buffaloes
are used here for carts, and there are also some riding horses and
elephants.
[Illustration: PORT OF CHANTABOON.]
Anghin is a little village frequented by foreigners for a few weeks in
February or March for surf-bathing. A sanitarium was erected there
some years ago, and the following advertisement appeared in the
Bangkok newspaper, August 29, 1868:
“His Excellency Ahon Phya Bhibakrwongs Maha Kosa Dhipude, the Phra
Klang, Minister of Foreign Affairs, has built a sanitarium at Anghin
for the benefit of the public. It is for the benefit of the Siamese,
Europeans or Americans to go and occupy when unwell to restore their
health. All are cordially invited to go there for a suitable length of
time and be happy, but are requested not to remain month after month
and year after year, and regard it as a place without an owner. To
regard it in this way cannot be allowed, for it is public property,
and others should go and stop there also.”
The eastern coast of the gulf is lined with numerous hills, and a
little way out in the gulf are islands, many of them extremely
precipitous and wild and romantic in appearance. Chantaboon, the most
eastern Siamese province on the gulf, is one of the most fertile and
populous districts. The government regards it as of much importance,
and has fortified it at great expense.
The plain is irrigated by a network of short streams. The coast west
of the bay is mountainous, and a projecting arm guards the entrance.
The river near its mouth is perfectly clear, while the Menam is muddy.
Ten miles inland of the coast the Sah Bap hills extend some thirty
miles. Bishop Pallegoix says that in an hour or two’s wandering
through these mountains his party collected a handful of precious
stones. Gems are more abundant on the frontiers of the Xong tribes, at
the north-east corner of the gulf, where the mountains form an almost
circular barrier and the wild highlanders are accused of poisoning the
frontier wells to keep off strangers. Ship-timber abounds near
Chantaboon, and building after European models is prosecuted with
vigor at the government dockyards. The chief town is situated some
miles inland, near Sah Bap, where the windings of the little streams,
the high forest-clad mountains, give a varied and picturesque aspect,
and the climate, owing to the mixture of sea- and mountain-air, is
more propitious than at Bangkok.
The famous Lion Rock, a mass of rudely-shaped stone which stands like
the extremity of a cape near this port, is held in great veneration by
the natives. “From a distance,” says M. Mouhot, “it so resembles a
lion that it is difficult to believe that nature unassisted formed
this singular colossus. Siamese verse records an affecting complaint
against the cruelty of the Western barbarian――an English captain,
whose offer to purchase had been refused, having pitilessly fired all
his guns at the poor animal.”
[Illustration: LION ROCK, AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE PORT OF CHANTABOON.]
The small tributary kingdom of Korat, north-east of Bangkok, can only
be reached through an extensive malarious jungle called, on account of
its fatal character, “Dong Phya Phai,” the Forest of the King of Fire.
All sorts of wild tales and legends are told of perils from robbers,
wild beasts and malarious sickness――supposed to be the curse of evil
spirits inflicted on those hardy enough to venture into this lion’s
den. Dr. House was the first white man who ever visited Korat, in
1853, while engaged in an extensive missionary tour through the
Cambodian valley, and M. Mouhot came several years later. But the
whole province is little more than a nest of robbers, largely made up
of vagrants, escaped prisoners and slaves. Nine miles east of Korat,
the principal town, is a remarkable ruin of the same general style as
the Cambodian ruins of Siamrap.
CAMBODIAN RUINS OF SIAMRAP.
In Eastern Siam, about fifteen miles north of the great lake of
Cambodia, are some of the most extraordinary architectural relics of
the world.
A trip of several hundred miles through a land where salas bare of
furniture are the only inns makes it advisable to carry our own
bedding, lay in supplies and provide a cook before leaving Bangkok. A
Cambodian servant to act as guide and interpreter is also needed.
A canal-trip due east from Bangkok brings us to the Kabin branch of
the Bang Pakong River. Mr. Thomson describes this as “a romantically
beautiful little stream, where we seemed to have retired to a region
unknown to men, inhabited only by the lower order of animals. Monkeys
walked leisurely beside the banks or followed us with merry chattering
along the overhanging boughs, while tall wading-birds with tufted
heads and snow-white plumage and rose-tipped wings paused in the
business of peering for fish to gaze with grave dignity upon the
unfamiliar intruders. Some were so near that we could have struck them
down with our oars, but to avoid this outrage they marched with a calm
and stately stride into the thickets of the adjoining jungle.”
Kabin is the entrepôt of trade with the far interior. Chinese
merchants here waylay the elephant-trains from Battabong and Laos,
exchanging salt and Chinese or European wares for horns, hides, silk,
oil and cardamoms. Mines near Kabin are said to furnish the most
ductile gold in the world.
Leaving our boats, elephants and a buffalo-cart are engaged. We step
from the veranda of the hut perched on poles to the elephant’s head
and into the howdah. The driver sits astride his neck, guiding when
needful with an iron-pointed staff. A military road from Kabin leads
to the borders of Cochin-China. Sesupon, the first Cambodian town, on
the frontier of provinces wrested by Siam from Cambodia a century ago,
is first reached. Some of the people, including the Siamese governor
and officials, speak both languages.
It is possibly harvest-time; in the fields the reapers are among their
crops. Some of the plains are covered with tall grass ten feet high.
There are perhaps burnt patches or a spark has just started a fire,
and the flames, swept on by the wind, are roaring, crackling and
sending up dense columns of smoke in their wake. As we pass under the
overarching branches of trees in the forest our elephant keeps an eye
the while ahead, and when some lower limb would strike the howdah he
halts, raises his trunk and breaks it off. We toil up and over the
watershed and down a steep bank to the river’s brink through the tall
grass and bamboos, our beast sometimes sliding on his haunches, then
bracing and feeling the way with his trunk, or plunging into the soft
ooze of the river, wading through water so deep that nothing but the
howdah and elephant’s head and trunk appear above the surface, and
then climbing with slow but sure steps up a bank at least forty-five
degrees steep.
Overtaken at night away from a town, we encamp under the trees. Our
attendants make an enclosure with the cart and branches of trees,
placing the cattle inside. We cook and eat our evening meal, making a
great fire and boiling the coffee and rice over the bright coals. Our
bivouac is underneath the stars on branches piled high above the
malarious surface of the ground. The natives watch in turn, keeping up
the fire to drive off wild beasts. Elephants prowl in droves outside
the enclosure and cries of jackals disturb our dreams. Possibly in the
morning tiger-tracks are pointed out to us.
On the higher waters of the Sesupon River, running south to the lake,
are the first traces of the ancient Cambodian civilization in the
shape of a ruined shrine buried beneath overgrown jungle; other ruins
are found in more than forty different localities up to the confines
of China.
Diverging to the north-east, evening finds us sheltered in a sala near
the quaint old town of Panomsok. To the north are the first altitudes
of the upland steppes of Laos. After such toilsome days and nights of
exposure, crossing some sunny eminences and ancient stone bridges, we
finally reach Siamrap, situated on a small stream about ten miles from
the head of Thalay Sap.
It is a walled city, the teakwood gates thickly studded with large
iron nails, the gateways surmounted by curious pointed towers. Houses
similar to those of the middle class in Bangkok, the court-house and
governor’s residence, are the only substantial buildings. Extensive,
straggling suburbs extend southward for several miles on either bank
of the river. The province has from eight to ten thousand inhabitants,
all Cambodians. Dr. McFarland reports: “We found but two or three
persons who understood the Siamese language. The governor was a rather
intelligent young Cambodian who had been educated at Bangkok, and of
course spoke Siamese. He was pleasant, affable and very fond of
foreigners.”
The communication with Panompen, the Cambodian capital, is by boat
down the river and crossing to the lower end of the lake, then by the
river which connects the lake with the Mekong. From Siamrap to
Panompen requires six days by boat.
Half a dozen miles north of Siamrap, in the midst of a lonely forest,
we come upon the celebrated ruins of Nagkon Thom, or Angkor the Great,
and Nagkon Wat, the City of Monasteries, is a few miles off. The city
ruins to-day are little more than piles of stone among the jungles.
The outer wall, built of immense volcanic rocks, is best preserved.
The natives say an entire day is necessary to circumambulate the
walls. A mutilated statue of the traditional leper king is seated on a
stone platform near the gate of the inner wall, protected by a grass
thatch. The pedestal has an ancient inscription on stone. The ruins
are in the charge of a provincial officer, who lives in a lodge near
the palace. There are some old towers still standing.
Some thirty miles distant are the Richi Mountains, said to contain the
quarries from which the supply of stone was obtained. A broad
causeway, still in serviceable repair, leads to the foot of these
hills. Mr. Thomson tried to go there, but the thick jungle made it
impossible to penetrate to the quarries even on elephants, although
the officer who accompanied him made a series of offerings at several
ruined shrines in order to propitiate the malignant spirits supposed
to infest these wilds.
Concerning Angkor the Great ancient tradition speaks in most
extravagant terms, as being of “great extent, with miles of royal
treasure-houses, thousands of war-elephants, millions of foot-soldiers
and innumerable tributary princes.” A road through the forest connects
this once royal city with Nagkon Wat. Along this road a side-path
leads to an observatory, overgrown with shrubs and vines, standing on
a terraced hill and commanding a wide view of the surrounding region.
The main entrance approaches the wat on the west, crossing by an
immense stone causeway over a deep, wide moat and under a lofty
gateway guarded by colossal stone lions hewn, pedestal and all, from a
single block. The structure rises in three quadrangular tiers, of
thirty feet, one above the other, facing the four points of the
compass, on a cruciform platform. Out of the highest central point
springs a great tower one hundred and eighty feet high, and four
inferior corner-towers rise around. It has been suggested that Mount
Menu, the centre of the Buddhist universe, with its sacred
rock-circles, is symbolized, the three platforms representing earth,
water and wind. Flights of steep stairways, each step a single block
and some having fifty or sixty steps, lead from terrace to terrace.
Long galleries with stone floors, stone roofs, and walls having a
surface smooth as polished marble, covered with elaborately chiseled
bas-reliefs, are flanked by rows of monolithic pillars whose girth and
height rival noble oaks. The centre compartments are walled in, and
the remaining two-thirds of the space consists of open colonnades. The
inner walls of these open galleries have blank windows; seven stone
bars, uniform in size and beautifully carved with the sacred lotus,
form a sort of balcony to each window.
The bas-reliefs have thousands of nearly life-size figures,
representing scenes from the great Indian epic Ramayana――battle-scenes,
processions of warriors, and the struggle of the angels with the
giants for the possession of Phaya Naght, the snake god. The majority
of these are executed with care and skill, and form one of the chief
attractions of the wat. Specimens of the more beautiful, and also
casts of the inscriptions, have been transported to the Cambodian
Museum of Paris, but, unfortunately, M. Mohl, the celebrated
Orientalist entrusted with the task of deciphering these unknown
characters, died before reaching any satisfactory conclusion. Scholars
seem inclined to regard the inscriptions as derived rather from the
Pali or Sanskrit than the Malay or Chinese language.
Mr. Thomson, the English traveler, with his photographs, has best
introduced these wonderful ruins to English readers. Mr. Frank
Vincent’s very readable account of his visit to these ruins in company
with Dr. McFarland, in 1871, also gives us much valuable information
and reproduces some of the English photographs. Dr. McFarland states
that “this wonderful structure covers an area of over ten acres――that
the space enclosed within the temple-grounds is two hundred and eight
acres, and the space within the walls of the city is over two thousand
acres. The temple is built entirely of stone. These stones were
brought a distance of about thirty miles, and must have required the
labor of thousands of men for many years. There is no such thing as
mortar or cement used in the building, and yet the stones are so
closely fitted as in some places to appear without seam. These ruins,
together with the beautiful little lakes that dot the plain and the
remnants of splendid roads that once traversed the country, show that
those formerly inhabiting this valley were a powerful race.”
And as we in turn ponder and gaze on these evidences of an unknown
civilization a spell falls upon our imagination. We seem to see these
forsaken altars thronged by devotees, and through the valley are busy
cities adorned with stately palaces, astir with the human life of a
powerful, opulent kingdom. But vainly do we conjecture how ruins of
such solidity, so stupendous in scale, of elaborate design and
excellent execution, could have lain forgotten through centuries in
this lonely forest-district of an almost unknown portion of the globe;
nor can the sloth and ignorance of the present semi-civilized
inhabitants offer any trustworthy solution of the problem. They reply,
“We cannot tell,” “They made themselves,” “The giants built them,” or
refer to a vague local tradition of an Egyptian king, turned into a
leper for an act of sacrilege, as the reputed founder of the wat.
The present good condition of the ruins of Nagkon Wat is largely due
to the late king of Siam, who gave them in charge of the small
religious brotherhood now living in little huts under the very shadow
of the gray walls.
Travelers describe Nagkon Wat as “a rival of Solomon’s temple” and
“grander than anything left us by Greece or Rome,” “occupying a larger
space than the ruins of Karnac,” “imposing as Thebes or Memphis, and
more mysterious.”
But the credit of what might be called the rediscovery of these
wonderful remains amidst the forest solitudes of Siamrap is due to M.
Mouhot, after these remnants of a lost past had for ages been
forgotten by all the world outside of their immediate vicinity. The
innumerable idols and thousands of bats hanging from the ceilings
would seem to have held undisturbed possession for centuries.
Fergusson’s opinion, that this shrine was devoted to the worship of
the snake god (see _Tree and Serpent Worship_), is not in accord with
the views of Garnier, Thomson and others, who agree that it must have
been erected in honor of Buddha. Dr. Bastian, president of the Berlin
Geographical Society, thinks, with Bishop Pallegoix, that the probable
date of the building――at least its commencement――was the grand event
from which the civil era of Siam dates――viz. the introduction of the
sacred Buddhist canon from Ceylon in the seventh century. The general
appearance of the worn stairways, and the dilapidated condition of the
city, slowly mouldering under the destructive encroachments of a
tropical jungle, would seem to indicate great age. Yet the mediæval
narrative of Cambodian travel by a Chinese officer, late in the
thirteenth century, recently translated by M. Remusat, contains no
allusion to this great temple, which has induced some to conclude that
the building belongs to a later period. In 1570 A. D. a Portuguese
refugee from Japan refers to these “ruins” and the inscriptions
thereon as being in “an unknown tongue.”
III. THE THIRD BASIN――VALLEY OF THE MEKONG.
The hill-country which separates the valley of Siam from that of the
Mekong (or Mekaung)――known in its lower course as the Cambodian
River――is of moderate elevation and the boundary-lines not well
defined.
The Mekong is one of the most remarkable streams of Asia. It rises in
Thibet, passes through Western Yunnan parallel with the Yangtse and
Salween, till, breaking through the mountains not far from each other,
the Yangtse flows across China and the Salween to the Bay of Bengal,
while the Mekong, crossing Laos and Cambodia, after a somewhat devious
course of at least two thousand miles reaches the Cochin-China delta.
The broken character of the Laos country gives the Mekong in its rapid
descent from plateau to plateau during its upper course the velocity
of a mountain-torrent as it tears along, with a noise like the roaring
of the sea, through deep gorges overshadowed by rocky defiles. In
Upper Laos the river is from six to eight hundred feet wide, and has
in the dry season an average depth of twenty feet, while the banks are
some twenty-five feet above the water, the difference between the
ordinary height and floodmark being very great. The rainy season
begins in April with the melting snow; the water rises gradually from
that time to July or August, when the country is flooded.
It was at Garnier’s suggestion that the great French commission of
exploration was sent up this river through Laos and Yunnan to Thibet,
1866-68. Garnier being considered too young, the chief command was
entrusted to Captain Doudart Lagrée. De Carné (the brilliant
journalist of the _Deux Mondes_) formed a third, and an armed escort
accompanied them. The pluck and resolute endurance of this gallant
band of Frenchmen, who during two years of exposure and hardships
toiled over some five thousand miles of a country almost unknown to
Europeans, command our admiration. Garnier took nearly all the
observations, and shortly after the death of Lagrée assumed command
and conducted the expedition safely to its close. De Carné describes
the Mekong as “an impassable river, broken at least thrice by furious
cataracts, and having a current against which nothing can navigate.”
M. Mouhot, the pioneer of European explorers in this valley, says that
his boatmen sometimes sought fire at night where they had cooked their
rice in the morning. He went as far as Looang Prabang, the
north-eastern Laos province tributary to Siam, where he died. Here the
channel is very wide and lake-like in its windings through a sort of
circular upland valley some nine miles in diameter and shut in by
mountains north and south, reminding one of the beautiful lake-scenery
of Como and Geneva. “If it were not for the blaze of a tropical sun,
or if the noonday heat were even tempered by a breeze, this Laos town
would be a little paradise,” is one of the latest entries in Mouhot’s
journal.
If there is almost an excess of grandeur in the upper courses of the
Mekong, the general aspect of the scenery as it reaches the
comparatively low level of Siam and Cambodia is sombre rather than
gay, though there is something imposing in the rapidity of so large a
volume of water. Few boats are to be seen, and the banks are almost
barren on account of the undermining of the forests, trees constantly
falling with a crash into the stream. For some two hundred miles from
its mouth the river is nearly three miles wide, and is studded with
islands, several of which are eight or nine miles long and more than a
mile broad. The discovery of the impracticability of the Mekong for
inland communication with Laos and China has robbed the French delta
of much of its supposed value.
[Illustration: Cambodia. Anam. Laos.
TYPES OF WOMEN OF FARTHER INDIA.]
The bulk of the Laos tribes are spread over the north-eastern valley
of the Mekong, from 21° to 13° north latitude. This extensive region
is a sort of _terra incognita_, reported to be thickly settled except
along the regions contiguous to the Tonquin Mountains, where the
villages are exposed to sudden raids from the wild tribes known as
“inhabitants of the heights,” who sometimes strike hands with the
Chinese refugees in making a foray over the border, carrying off the
peasants as slaves and driving away cattle, with whatever in the shape
of plunder can be moved. The caravans of pack-traders from Ssumao on
the Yunnan frontier bring back large loads of the celebrated
_so-called_ Puekr tea and cotton; whence it is inferred this plain
must be fertile and extensively cultivated.
Talā Sap (Sweet-water Lake), the great lake of Cambodia, forms a sort
of back-water to the river Mekong, with which its lower end connects
by the Udong. It belongs partly to Siam and partly to Cambodia. It is
one of those sheets of water called in Bengal _jhéts_――viz. a shallow
depression in an alluvial plain, retaining part of the annual overflow
throughout the entire year, hence subject to great variations of
extent and depth. In the dry season the average depth is four feet,
and the highest floods entirely submerge even the forests on its
banks. It takes about five days to traverse the lake when full.
Extensive fishing-villages, erected on piles, stud the lake, reminding
Mr. Thomson of “the pre-historic lake-dwellings of Switzerland.” The
houses are above a bamboo platform common to the entire settlement and
used for drying fish. This lake is an object of superstitious
veneration to the natives, the fish furnishing them with the most
important source of their livelihood. Enormous quantities are
exported, dried or alive in cages, while immense supplies are
furnished to Anamese villages to be boiled down into oil, thus giving
lucrative employment to thousands.
The small remnant of the ancient kingdom of Cambodia forms a rough
parallelogram, consisting in large part of an alluvial plain lying
athwart the Mekong, uncomfortably wedged in between Siam, Anam and the
French delta, with a very short west coast-line.
It would appear from Chinese annals that at an early period the
Cambodians were an exceedingly warlike race, and that their authority
extended over many of the Laos and even Siam. But for centuries
Cambodian influence in Indo-China has been on the decline. It has
little more than the name of an independent government at present,
being under a joint protectorate of Siam and France, and tributary to
both.
The Cambodians differ from the Siamese in language, but in habits and
religion resemble them, with the usual Indo-Chinese type of
government. There are Roman Catholic, but no Protestant, missionaries
in Cambodia or Cochin-China, though several years ago strong reasons
were urged for the establishment by the American Presbyterian Mission
of an out-station at one of the principal Cambodian towns.
Panompen, the present capital, is connected by a small steamer, which
makes regular trips, with Saigon. Below Panompen the river divides
into two streams, which flow south about fifteen miles apart, and
empty themselves into the China Sea. There is a labyrinth of
intersecting branches, creeks and canals across the delta, and the low
shores are mostly grown wild with jungle.
Saigon, on an offshoot narrow, tortuous, but navigable for vessels of
the heaviest tonnage, is situated about twenty-five miles inland. The
French governor resides here, and is assisted in the control of the
province by a legislative and executive council. Extensive parks
surround the palace; macadamized roads run through the city. There is
a public promenade along the river, and botanical gardens, where
foreign plants have been introduced with the intent of their
propagation. The spacious harbor with its floating dock contains a
fleet of iron-clad steamers, and flags of the different consulates are
floating from the line of mercantile and government offices along the
bank. Telegraph lines connect Saigon with all parts of the peninsula,
and submarine cables with the outside world.
IV. THE FOURTH BASIN――TONQUIN.
TONQUIN, the north-east corner of Indo-China, is a province of Anam.
It is separated by mountains from Laos and Siam and also from the
Chinese empire. The Songkoi, or Red River, dominates the whole fluvial
system, several streams from the north and west uniting, and then
dividing and diverging, so as to form a triangle or delta. Upon these
streams are situated the important towns. This Tonquinese river
connects Yunnan with the sea, forming an important trade-route. Its
port is Hanoi, at some little distance up the river, just as Bangkok
is in regard to the Menam. For the acquirement and control of this
waterway French enterprise seems to have taken the satirical counsel
of Horace, “Si possis recte; si non, quocunque modo.”
The French colonial government covers an empire in Indo-China similar
to that of Great Britain in India, and would like to annex not only
Anam, but Cambodia and Eastern Siam. Early in this century, at the
instigation of Roman Catholic missionaries, who have played an
important part in the political complications, the French assisted
Gialong, an Anamese aspirant to the throne, making their services the
basis of a treaty which virtually gave them the protectorate of the
whole eastern coast. This claim, being disputed by the successors of
the prince, was the pretext for further encroachments. The court of
Hué, too weak to resist, again and again memorialized the Chinese
government, and each time a strong protest was made by China, who
naturally objected to a foreign power holding the trade-keys of some
of her richest provinces. These remonstrances have been ignored, and
the frank statement of Dr. Hammand, the French civil commissioner in
Tonquin, is not calculated to commend Christian ethics to the
Buddhists of Southern Asia. “When a European nation,” he affirms,
“comes in contact with a barbarous people, and has begun to spread
around its civilizing influences, there comes a time when it becomes
_ipso facto_ a necessity to extend its boundaries. There is no country
more favorable to our development than the kingdom of Anam. The
Anamese recognize that we are incontestably their superiors. _It is
necessary to force Anam to accept our rule._” This has been done.
An able writer in the _London Quarterly_ (October, 1883) says: “The
railroad route from Maulmein across the Chino-Shan frontier being
assured, an upland cross-road of some seventy or eighty miles
north-east would lead to Yuan-Kiang on the main stream of the Songkoi,
whence a road would lie open to the capital, Yunnan-fu, or south to
the mart of Manhao, which is the head wharf of the Songkoi River
navigation within the province of Yunnan, and thence to the Gulf of
Tonquin.… Siam, the Laos provinces tributary and independent, Yunnan
and Tonquin can thus be brought into the closest and most profitable
connection with Burmah, all on one line, at once the easiest and most
expeditious across the peninsula, and thus a short direct line for
goods-transit be provided from the Gulf of Tonquin to the Bay of
Bengal.… This, then, is the answer to the riddle of the Sphinx of the
Far East, this the true solution of the Indo-Chinese overland route
problem; by this the long-sought goal will be obtained, and the
highest benefits conferred, not on Burmah and Yunnan only, but on
India and China; on Siam and the Laos country, and Tonquin; on British
and European enterprise throughout the China Sea and Indian Ocean
alike――the vision of Marco Polo and his gallant successors realized.”
This northern province is more closely connected with China in
government, literature and sympathy than with the rest of Anam. The
Tonquinese use the Chinese characters for the written language, and
near the frontier the Anamese tongue is hardly spoken; their laws and
customs are modeled on those of China; the internal trade is in
Chinese hands; the merchant quarter of Hanoi, with its shops and
well-paved streets, is purely Chinese; the external trade-centre is at
Hong Kong. Chinamen marry the women of the country, and all around the
fringe of the delta Chinese and half-breeds form the dominant race. It
is even hard to say just where Tonquin ends and China begins, for
there is a belt of debatable land along the frontier, narrow in the
north, but widening to over one hundred miles in the hills, and in
some of the border fortresses Chinese and Anamese exercise joint
control.
This plateau country, along the upper banks of the Songkoi and Claire
Rivers, is infested by wild native tribes and Chinese brigands under
the names of “Yellow Flags” and “Black Flags,” who erect barriers
along the streams, so that travel in these parts is dangerous. Hence
the importance of the fortified towns of Sontay and Bacninh, situated
close to these outlaw districts. From Sontay to Hanoi there is a
well-made embankment, shaded by fine trees. It was along this road
that Garnier and Revière met their deaths in 1873. Most of the travel
is along the river. Throughout the province almost the only highways
are footpaths across the jungles. From Hanoi roads lead north to China
and south to Hué. The influence of Hanoi, through Anam, is widespread
as a centre of fashion as well as of authority. A French writer calls
it the “Paris of the Anamese empire.” What more could he say?
[Illustration: SCENE ON AN ORIENTAL RIVER.]
The thickly-populated delta, intersected by streams and tidal creeks,
is subjected to periodical inundations, when the whole face of the
country has the appearance of an enormous lake, with here and there
clumps of trees, villages and pagodas. Away from the delta only the
valleys and lower slopes are cultivated, and the rest of the province
is a tangle of mountains covered with dense forests, of which little
is known, apart from the Songkoi and minor waterways, unless from the
reports of the natives or Roman Catholic missionaries. The population
of the province is estimated not to exceed ten millions, probably
less. The Anamese differ from those of the south, the race being
formed by a union of the hill-aborigines with the seaboard people. The
climate is not considered favorable for Europeans. There are no
Protestant missions in Anam.
This survey of the principal basins of Indo-China will enable the
reader to appreciate how largely the agricultural wealth and
commercial importance of all these countries depend on its rivers. It
is scarcely exaggeration to state that a few inches of water often
determine whether the receding flood at the annual inundation will
leave a bright, grain-laden plain or a sterile waste of ruined crops.
It should also be remembered that while periodical floods are common
to all the deltas, each valley has its own period, indicating that the
table-lands in which the rivers have their sources are at unequal
distances. Moreover, travel throughout the peninsula being so largely
aquatic, not only north and south along the main trunks, but across
the same valley by means of intersecting canals, tide plays an
important part in these waterway trips, and many smaller streams being
filled and emptied daily, a careful study of tidal influences will
avoid delay, as at times the water, suddenly receding, leaves a boat
stranded on the banks of some creek for hours, with no water even for
cooking or drinking purposes.
V. CLIMATE, PLANTS AND ANIMALS.
Far India, as this south-eastern corner of Asia is sometimes called,
has a tropical climate. At seasons the heat is intense, but in many
portions the warm air is genial and not unhealthy, though Europeans
need from time to time a change to a more bracing region. The seasons
are two――the wet and the dry: the former embraces our spring and
summer months, and ranges from May to October; the latter, the
remainder of the year. March and April are the hottest months;
November, December and January, the coolest. The winter is mild and
summer-like――doors and windows all open and no fire. Houses are built
without window-glass, and the shutters are seldom closed except at
night or to keep out the sun. Here, too, is the verdure of perpetual
summer――lands where the foliage is always green, where roses bloom
from the first to the last day of the year, and the orchards are
always laden with their luscious store――lands of Italian sunsets,
picturesque mountains, loveliest valleys, and long stretches of
comparatively still waters, said to resemble the Swiss mountain-lakes,
clear as crystal, reflecting the sky and great mountain-shadows, and
filled with fish; the grandest caves, the richest mines of precious
metals and valuable gems. Rice, the principal article of food among
the natives, grows almost spontaneously, and is used on the table at
an expense of three cents a pound, while bananas are sold for two
cents a dozen and oranges for half a cent each.
It does not cost much to build a little bamboo house after the native
fashion. For example, Miss Cort paid for one of her schoolhouses at
Petchaburee, fourteen by twenty-two feet, only $6.38 for the
materials, including a lock and key; $5.44 for the wages of the men
and women who built it――making the entire cost $11.82. But then we
should think it a very queer schoolhouse, with its basket-like walls
of woven bamboo, its roof of leaves sewed together, its three little
windows without any glass, and two doors; nor would its strangeness be
less striking if we saw the native teacher and children all sitting on
the floor. But things move slowly in these warm Eastern countries. If
you want to build a more substantial house, you must begin by buying
earth to make the bricks, and oftentimes rough logs to be worked up
into boards; and, though labor is cheap, a day’s work in Indo-China
will not mean anything like as much accomplished as in the same space
of time in America.
In the useful arts the inhabitants of this peninsula are far behind
Chinese and Hindoos, though there are said to be ingenious workers in
copper and iron, and in the manufacture of gold and silver vessels
they display considerable skill.
Agriculture is the main employment of the natives. In many parts of
this peninsula the land is prepared by turning in the buffaloes during
the rainy season to trample down weeds and stir the soil, which is
afterward harrowed by a coarse rake or thorny shrub, the stubble being
burnt and the ash worked in as manure.
But the Chinese are everywhere introducing improved methods. The best
quality of rice is transplanted, the plants lying partially covered in
the still pools of water between the rectangular ridges marked off for
the purpose of irrigation; and rice growing above the rising water
looks very like a field of wheat or tall grass. At high-flood seasons
it is a pretty sight to see the planters moving about in boats
attending to their crops. The growth is almost spontaneous. Little
care is needed until the whole family must turn out to drive off the
immense flocks of little rice-birds. The rice is sown in June,
transplanted in September and harvested late in December or in
January. In the fields at this season may be seen the reapers,
multitudes of sheaves and stacks of grain. The rice is generally
threshed by buffaloes, a hard circle being formed around each stack.
The carts have large wheels, four or five feet apart, with the sheaves
placed in a small rack. The driver guides the oxen by means of ropes
fastened in the septum of their noses, reminding one of the Scripture,
“I will put my hook in his nose.”
Sugar is produced almost everywhere, in Siam especially, under the
Chinese settlers, its quality yielding to that of no other sugar in
the world, so that it is fast becoming one of the most important
Siamese exports. Almost all the spices used throughout the world find
their early home in the peninsula or the neighboring islands――the
laurel-leaf clove; the nutmeg, like a pear tree in size, its nut
wrapped in crimson mace and encased in a shell; the cardamom, a plant
valuable for its seeds and the principal ingredient in curries and
compound spices. A pepper-plantation is a curious sight, the berries
growing, not in pods, but hanging down in bunches like currants from a
climber trained much like a hop-vine, yielding two annual and very
profitable crops. Tea is cultivated in the Laos provinces, and coffee
and cotton are also raised. Tobacco is largely grown, and its use is
almost universal; even babies in their mothers’ arms are often seen
puffing a cigar. A fine aromatic powder, made from the deep golden
root of the curcuma, is sold by the boatload in Bangkok; Siamese
mothers may be seen in the morning _yellowing_ their children with it
for beauty. It is also used to give color to curries, and mixed with
quicklime makes the bright pink paste wrapped in seri-leaf around the
betel-nut for chewing purposes.
Vegetable-gardens and fruit-orchards surround most of the villages.
The neat Chinese gardens near Bangkok are worth a visit. The land is
made sufficiently dry by throwing it up in large beds ten to twelve
feet high, extending the whole length of the grounds. The deep ditches
between have a supply of water even in the dry season, and a simple
instrument is used to sprinkle the plants with it several times a day.
The gardener lives within the premises, his small dirty hut guarded by
a multitude of dogs and a horrible stench of pigsty. The artificial
ridges of the paddy-fields beyond, three feet high, make quite
comfortable footpaths in the dry season.
[Illustration: THE BREAD-FRUIT.]
The Indo-Chinese fruits are of great excellence of flavor, and almost
every day of the year furnishes a new variety. The best oranges are
plentiful; pineapples are a drug in the market; lemons, citrons,
pomegranates are abundant and very cheap. As the season advances,
mangoes, guavas, custard-apples and the like follow in quick
succession; on some kinds of trees buds, flowers, green and ripened
fruit may be found at the same time. The small mahogany-colored
mangosteen is perhaps the most popular of tropical fruits. One species
of the sac has a fruit weighing from ten to forty pounds, which cut in
thick slices will supply a meal to twenty persons, and a single tree
will produce a hundred such fruit; the bright yellow wood of this tree
is used for dyeing the priests’ robes. The tamarind grows to an
enormous height and lives for centuries; under its shade the Siamese
assemble for most of their social games. The durian, a child of the
forest, has something the appearance of an elm; the large fruit, cased
in a thick hard rind as difficult to break as a cocoanut-shell and
covered with strong spines, gives a dangerous blow in falling. The
five shells within each contain several seeds rather larger than a
pigeon’s egg filled with custard-like pulp of a strong odor and unique
flavor. The plantain or banana has some forty varieties, with fruit
varying greatly in size as well as in flavor. It is the first fruit
given to babies, and, the Moslems say, was the gift of Allah to the
Prophet in his old age when he lost his teeth. The trees bear fruit
but once, and then are followed by others from the same root. The
useful bamboo is a tree-like plant with a jointed stem, producing
branches with willow-shaped leaves, which wave in the wind, giving an
elegant feathery appearance. So rapid is its growth, sometimes two
feet in a single day, that the plant attains its height of sixty to
seventy feet in a few months. It is said to have seven admirable
qualities――strength, lightness, roundness, straightness, smoothness,
hollowness and divisibility. The short succulent shoots are served on
the table like asparagus, pickled or candied. According to the Chinese
proverb, the grains are “more abundant when rice fails.” The stems
furnish bottles, buckets, baskets, fishing-rods, posts, bridges,
walls, floors, roofs, and even the string that lashes together rafter
and beam of the common native house in Indo-China.
[Illustration: THE LOTUS.]
Under the stimulating sunshine of the tropics a profusion of rare
shrubs and some of the most beautiful flowers reward slight labor with
a rapidity of growth and bloom unknown in colder regions. Roses of one
sort or another are perennial. Bright geraniums, brilliant lilies and
numberless plants indigenous to the country are in great demand and
cultivated extensively for domestic or religious uses. There are seven
varieties of the lotus, the favorite sacred flower of all Buddhist
countries. The red pond-lotus is most common; the blue, green, light
and dark-yellow flowers are rarer. The smallest variety has a white
flower scarcely larger than a daisy, and is found in the rivers,
principally at the season of inundation. The rose-colored lotus, whose
golden stamens breathe a delicious fragrance, is the ornament of all
festivities, and is sent as an offering to royalty, the priests and
Buddha himself. The mali, a fragrant white flower about the size of a
pink, is much cultivated in the neighborhood of Bangkok. It grows on a
shrub about three feet high. The wreaths worn around the topknots of
children are braided from this flower, which is also used for
necklaces, bracelets and to perfume water. Rare and beautiful orchids
are also here in large numbers, and many of the varicolor-leaved
plants find this their native home.
Throughout the Indo-Chinese peninsula are great belts of trackless
forests of teak and other valuable woods, tropical trees yielding rich
gums and aromatic odors――the tall, exquisitely graceful wood-oil tree;
the india-rubber, gutta-percha――first discovered in Malayland――and
other varieties of the Ficus; the cajaput, the upas, the gamboge.
There are thousands of miles of these jungles never yet subdued by
man, through whose green twilight the traveler can only force his way
axe in hand. Here are majestic trees, it may be a hundred and fifty
feet high and of great girth, draped with a whole world of dangling
vines and parasite trailers, spreading everywhere a canopy of leaf and
gorgeous blossoms; the liana hanging its scarlet and orange clusters a
hundred feet overhead across some stream; tough ratan cables a
thousand feet long, knotting together a whole grove; avenues of
intersecting branches, like the aisles of a Gothic cathedral, covered
with yellow flowers of a most delicious fragrance; the white and
purple of the pemea, combining the beauties of the rhododendron and
horse-chestnut; the blue-blossoming Thunbergia; the Burmese Amherstia,
like a giant fuchsia on the scale of an oak. Then there is the
graceful palm tribe――the palmyra; the date; the lofty areca with its
sweet-scented buds and great clusters of nuts; the tufted-crowned,
sea-loving cocoanut, whose fruit supplies food, drink and oil, its
fibrous casing ropes, vessels and mats, and its plaited leaves dishes
and the thatch of the native’s cottage, the large stalks fences, and
whose slender bole is adapted for innumerable uses from a post to a
canoe. Underneath all this Oriental shade a lovely confusion of fungi,
mosses, and every variety of ferns, from delicate maiden-hair to the
tall fronds fifteen and twenty feet high.
[Illustration: BIRD OF PARADISE.]
Birds of brilliant plumage and beautiful form inhabit these Oriental
forests――long-legged swamp-fowls, tall as a man and swift as a
greyhound; paroquets with green bodies and scarlet beaks fly screaming
from tree to tree; the snowy pelican, the white ibis, the argus, the
blue-jay, the black and white robin; birds of paradise and
humming-birds. The sea-swallow builds her nest in the hollows and
caves of the rocky coast, and doves and pigeons are in endless
variety. Winged things of myriad kinds troop, great and small――immense
butterflies, jewel-like beetles, brilliant dragon-flies, thousands of
moths――while at dusk swarms of fire-flies illumine the glades, and the
night is noisy with the flitting and buzzing of the insect world.
Animals fierce and large as those of Africa infest these jungles;
their footprints are all along the paths――wild elephants and boars,
the tapir, the royal tiger, the one-horned rhinoceros, the buffalo,
herds of deer, wild hogs and squirrels, afford a sportsman plenty of
use for his gun; uncanny flying-foxes, and chattering monkeys linked,
chain-fashion, hand to tail, or pelting each other with fruit and
nuts. Innumerable water-snakes glide among the reeds; the cobra or
hooded serpent is abundant; surly alligators, with their ugly red
mouths wide open, and huge saurians bask in sunny spots or float like
logs upon the surface of the water; leeches abound in the swampy
lowlands; frogs and turtles and tortoises, larger than any ever seen
in temperate regions, throng the marshes and streams.
[Illustration: MONKEYS PLAYING WITH A CROCODILE.]
Indo-China also offers a first field of inquiry to the geologist. The
peninsula is very rich in minerals; gold is said to be most productive
at the foot of the “Three Hundred Peaks;” copper and tin are found in
large quantities; silver in connection with copper and lead; and there
are unquestionably large unworked deposits of coal and petroleum.
Precious stones, brilliant diamonds, deep-blue sapphires, rubies of
finest color, emeralds, topazes, rock-crystals and other gems used to
ornament the crowns of kings and emperors are a part of the natural
wealth.
* * * * *
Such, then, are the general characteristics and geographical outlines
of the Indo-Chinese peninsula.
CHAPTER II.
_SIGHT-SEEING IN BANGKOK._
To give you some idea of Bangkok, the capital city of Siam, I will
imagine myself once more a resident there, with you for a visitor, and
will invite you this fine morning to take a seat in our family boat,
which is at the landing, and we will go out upon the river.
It is a strange city, unlike any in the Western World, and if we
cannot “see the lions,” we may perhaps “see the elephants” and many
novel and interesting things. You have already become somewhat
familiar with the copper-colored complexion, the black eyes, black
hair and black teeth, the scanty clothing and shaven heads of the
people.
We will confine our excursion to-day to the Menam River, the Broadway
of Bangkok, while the hundreds of canals that intersect it at every
angle may be considered the less-important streets. You find the river
a busy scene, but need have no fears of a collision with any of the
innumerable boats of every size and description that pass, for the
Siamese are very skillful boatmen.
Your attention is already attracted by the beautiful _wat_, or temple,
with its surroundings, on our right. Is it not a beautiful spot, so
prettily laid out with fine shade trees, flowering plants and
well-swept walks? There are about two hundred wats in Bangkok
consecrated to the worship of Buddha. Some of them have groves several
acres in extent, containing pagodas, image-houses, priests’ dwellings
and salas, or lounging-places. They occupy the pleasantest parts of
the city, and the deluded people spend vast sums on these temples and
their idols, expecting in this way to make merit for themselves. You
will not wonder that they are anxious to make all the merit they can
when their religion teaches them that at death their soul enters the
body of some animal――a bird, it may be, or a snake, an elephant or a
buffalo――unless they have made enough merit to be born something
better and higher.
[Illustration: BANGKOK ON THE MENAM.]
Observe the exterior of this temple. What a gay appearance the
neat-colored tiles give the roof! The front, how laboriously carved
and how richly gilded! The doors and windows too are more or less
carved and gilded. Now we will go inside. The scenes with which these
inner walls are so gayly painted are chiefly from the life of Buddha,
and see, in the farther end, on an ornamental throne, is an immense
gilt image of this deity in a sitting posture. This is made of brick
and mortar, but idols are sometimes of gold, silver, brass, ivory,
wood and stone. All have the same self-complacent, sleepy look. Look!
a worshiper has followed us in. Watch his movements. See him prostrate
himself before the idol, touching his forehead three times to the
floor, and now he lays his simple offering of flowers upon the altar.
Mark the complacency of his countenance as he leaves, no doubt feeling
that he has added not a little to his stock of merit.
[Illustration: HOUSE-SPARROW.]
But we must return to our boat and move on up the river, for I hope to
have time to visit the royal temple and perhaps some others.
Ah! there are some priests. I feared we should not meet any of these
yellow-robed gentry. How strange they look with shaven heads and
eyebrows! Such as these are the religious teachers of the country. A
few years ago there were ten thousand in Bangkok alone and some thirty
thousand in the kingdom――a perfect army (with few exceptions) of
self-conceited idlers; but I am happy to tell you that their number
has now greatly diminished. They live on the charity of the people,
going about every morning from house to house among their
parishioners, with their alms-bowl, and with a fruit-bag slung over
one shoulder. The old mother or grandmother is up at an early hour to
have rice cooked and ready for them. She puts a ladleful of hot rice
into the bowl of each as he passes, and a handful of fruit into his
fruit-bag. Do they thank her? By no means. She ought rather to thank
them, for they have given her an opportunity to make merit. They
collect sufficient for their morning and noonday meal. Their religion
forbids them to take food after midday.
Notice the boats. Some, used for trading, are loaded with rice, sugar,
salt, cotton, oil, dried fish, or dye-woods, as the case may be. Some
are at once boat, shop and dwelling. In the distance is a nobleman’s
boat, propelled by a dozen or two paddlers. What an odd little house
in the centre! Do you see how much at his ease His Lordship is
reclining, with two or three attendants down on their elbows and knees
before him? Look yonder at that small boat paddled by a little child
five or six years old. How unconcerned the little fellow seems as he
moves about entirely alone, his boat hardly larger than himself, the
edge scarcely two inches above the water! Men, women and children in
this country can swim; should this child upset he would look out for
himself and think very little of the matter.
Many smaller craft are market-boats, with fruits and vegetables for
sale. Notice some of the fruits as they pass. That one nearly as large
as a child’s head and resembling a huge orange is the shaddock or
pomelow. This large one, which smells so very disagreeably, and which
is so completely encased in spines as if to say, “Touch me not!” is
the far-famed durian, which the natives consider the king of fruits.
It weighs from five to ten pounds. This small round mahogany-colored
fruit is the delicious mangosteen――that golden one, the luscious
mango. Then there are the rich custard-apple, the refreshing orange,
the blushing rhambutan, the pineapple, the banana, etc.
You see the flags of many different nations flying from the ships, of
which none are more beautiful than the “star-spangled banner” of our
native land. There are also scores of steam-yachts on the rivers of
Siam now, owned by the natives, but when I first came here there was
not one to be seen. You ask what these strange-looking craft, moored
by immense ratan cables, are? They are Chinese junks, and it would be
hard to tell where the Chinese obtained their model. The wonder is
that such clumsy, unshapely, unsightly things can be made to traverse
the sea. And the glowing colors in which they are painted, red always
predominating! And don’t overlook the large eye painted on each bow.
The Chinese say, “No got eye, how can see?”
But you must not get so much interested in the boats and the fruits as
not to notice the _homes_ of this people. Many of the princes and
nobles now have fine houses handsomely furnished. The missionaries,
foreign consuls, merchants and wealthy Chinese have good, substantial
dwellings. The homes of the common people, you see, are small, of one
story, and thatched with the leaves of the attap palm. Most of them
are neither painted nor whitewashed. Those upon the land are placed on
posts six feet high, and the sides of many of them are made of bamboos
split and woven together, forming a kind of basket-work.
But thousands of the people live in _floating_ houses, which you have
observed lining both banks of the river. Notice them particularly now,
for they are one of the peculiarities of this Eastern city. They are
but one story high, you see, and built of boards and placed on rafts
of large bamboos, which rise and fall with the tide, and hence are
called _floating houses_. These rafts must be renewed every two or
three years. The houses are kept in their place by large posts on each
side driven deep into the muddy bed of the river. They do sometimes,
however, get detached from their moorings, though fastened to them by
rings of ratan, and float up or down the river with the tide. These
houses have some advantages over all others, for if neighbors are
disagreeable or a fire breaks out the occupants have only to move off
with the tide, house, furniture and all, to some other spot.
[Illustration: FLOATING STORES AT BANGKOK.]
You will observe that many of them are open in front with a veranda,
and are shops. This one seems to have a variety, and we will stop a
few moments. You perceive there are no showcases, but the smaller and
more fanciful articles are displayed on these shelves, arranged one
above another, like a flower-stand, to the height of some three feet.
Are you waiting for the shopkeeper? The personage seated on the floor
by the side of his goods is none other than he. He seems quite
indifferent about selling, but look about and see what of all this
mixed medley you will purchase. There, in the way of dry goods, are
bleached and unbleached and turkey-red muslins, Siamese waist-cloths
and some fading calicoes. Here are a few boxes of tea, some native
umbrellas, a bunch of peacock-feathers, tigers’ skins and tigers’
bones, piles of coarse crockery, pieces of matting, etc. There are
also pretty little brown teapots and tiny cups, all of which at home
would be considered toys for children, but, I assure you, they are as
large as any used by the tea-drinkers of this country. There is a set
now on a little tray behind you that are in daily use. Ah! you want to
purchase a set with the tray, do you? Well, you have made a very good
selection, but the shopman may not fancy your flat silver coins,
though they are fast being introduced. Make your selection and I will
pay your bills. I have yet to show you the money of the country. See!
a stamped silver bullet, with a small notch cut out of one side. What
does it remind you of? I do not wonder you smile. This largest piece
is a _tical_, and is worth sixty cents; this next size is a _salung_,
or fifteen cents; this smallest a _fuang_, or seven and a half cents.
If I had come shopping with you a few years ago, and you had wanted
any smaller change, I should have used cowrie-shells, of which it took
one thousand to equal a dime. The shopman is paid, and now with the
Siamese good-bye, _Chah! lah! pi kaun_, we must move on. Do not think
these are the only shopping-places in the city, for besides several
fine foreign stores we might, if we had time, go up into the Chinese
bazaar, which is about a mile long. We should find there tailors,
blacksmiths, druggists, goldsmiths, idol-makers, dyers, etc.
We are just passing a floating-house restaurant. We will move slowly
and see what they have――pork steaks, ducks, fowls, hot rice and curry,
dried fish and vegetables. Shall we call? No? Well, then, we will take
our own lunch that we have brought with us, and, refreshed by it, be
ready to visit a royal temple which we shall soon reach.
Notice this large canal on our right, for it extends entirely around
the city proper, following the line of the city-wall, which is five
miles in circumference, till it meets the river again.
Do you notice that smoke rising in yonder temple-ground? It is from a
funeral pile, for in this country the dead are _burned_, unless they
committed suicide, were struck by lightning or died of cholera or some
other disease causing sudden death, in which case they are considered
as deficient in merit and undeserving of burning. You will be
surprised when I tell you that two armsful of wood are sufficient to
reduce a body to ashes.
Look at that lofty tower on the left, rising full two hundred feet,
with such exquisite proportions. It is considered the finest pagoda in
Bangkok, but I think the four tall, gracefully-tapered spires in the
wat-ground directly opposite are not much behind in beauty. Under the
long, tiled roof near them reclines an image of Buddha which is
perhaps the largest idol in the world. There is a huge one on this
side that towers up seventy feet as it sits cross-legged, but we will
cross over and visit the larger one, the “Sleeping Idol.” Let us land
and look about a while before we enter the principal temple. You see
there are other temple-buildings and small pagodas, besides the usual
houses for the hundreds of priests. In one of these temples are to be
seen four hundred images of Buddha, life-size and each seated on a
gilded throne. Now we will go in and see the immense image. The temple
itself is two hundred feet long, and the idol at least one hundred and
sixty feet long. You see it lies on its side, as if asleep. It is made
of brick and heavily gilded. I suppose the gold-leaf is of many
thicknesses in some places, for worshipers generally stick on a fresh
piece. As we have our yard-measure, let us see how long the feet are.
Five yards and more! and each toe is one yard long! Buddha’s toes and
fingers are supposed to have been all of one length, and look at the
soles of the great feet, so beautifully inlaid with figures in
mother-of-pearl!
But come, we must not linger longer here. The palace of His Majesty is
near, and we must get a glimpse of this, though I fear its exterior
will not be as imposing as you thought. The palace-grounds are
enclosed by a wall about a mile in circumference. Here are the
audience-halls, the mint, arsenal, halls of justice, museum, royal
chapel, and separated from them by an inner wall is the royal harem,
which is in itself a compact little town, with several streets, a
bazaar, a temple, pleasure-gardens and the homes of the numerous
wives, sisters and other relatives of the king.
This gate in the city-wall will give us access to the stables of the
elephants. Were it early in the morning we should see them coming down
to the river to bathe and drink.
Our walk takes us through a market, but you must not look for neatness
or order, only a confused display of vegetables and fruits,
betel-nuts, cigars, odd-looking cakes, eggs, salted and fresh fish,
dried meats. But why this commotion? Ah! the reason is plain, for
there, with his train of attendants, comes a prince borne rapidly
along in an open palanquin on the shoulders of men, and the traders
and customers must make way for him. Ten years ago all, as if impelled
by one impulse, would have respectfully dropped down on elbows and
knees, but the present young king has done away with this servile
custom. Ten years ago hat or cap, stockings or shoes, would not have
been needed to denote his greatness, the number of his retinue showing
that. Notice his attendants. One carries an immense state umbrella
over the head of His Lordship; then there is the sword-bearer and the
pipe-bearer; one carries his gold betel-box and tray, another his
spittoon; one has his lighted match-rope, another his fan, and another
his golden vessel of drinking-water. Now the prince has passed, and we
may go on our way to the elephant-stables, which are very neat. Let us
venture in. You need not fear that they are not securely fastened by
those large ropes to the posts. How incessantly they sway their great
trunks, as if weary of confinement! The burnished metal rings which
encircle the white tusks of the larger ones look like gold, but their
small peculiar eyes forbid close examination. These bundles of fresh
grass by the door are cut by state criminals, whose lifelong business
it is each morning to furnish sufficient for the day. There are
several other stables, each having three or more elephants, but we
will not prolong our walk, for I think you must be satisfied with
sight-seeing for one day. The tide will be with us, and we will return
at once to the mission premises, some miles below us, leaving other
objects of interest till another day. I should like you to visit the
royal mint, the spacious, elegant building where the curious money is
made, and you ought not to return to America without attending the
centennial exhibition, for Bangkok is now (in 1882) one hundred years
old. It is said that the royal jewelry there on exhibition is valued
at about five million dollars. There is a pyramid of untold wealth
which from base to summit is brilliant with rings, crowns, rich
chains, bracelets and anklets, and boxes with diamonds and precious
stones of every description. Light is thrown on it by reflectors, so
that the beautiful things are seen to the best possible advantage.
As we came up the river I did not point out to you our _upper_
Presbyterian mission-station. It is just here on our right. The fine
building is the girls’ boarding-school, the first in the kingdom of
Siam. The pretty chapel connected with the school was built by gifts
from American women.
We are just passing on our left the Baptist mission to the Chinese,
and the little English chapel, where there is English service every
Sabbath afternoon, conducted by the missionaries. And now here we are
at our own landing again.
CHAPTER III.
_TOURING IN SIAM._
In the cool season in Siam, or in the months of December and January,
the missionaries frequently go in boats into the country, to be absent
two, three, or four weeks at a time, and as there are no hotels in
Siam they live in their boats day and night. These boats have a snug
little house in the centre, about seven by five and a half feet, and
are propelled by six boatmen, who use long oars and stand behind them
when rowing. They are paid about twenty cents a day, and their rice is
given them. The missionaries take with them hundreds of religious
books and tracts in the Siamese language, which they distribute as
they travel from village to village, preaching and giving instruction
to all who will listen.
Perhaps you will be interested in an account of one of these mission
tours taken by Dr. House and myself.
One fine December morning, after seeing our books, clothing, bedding,
provisions, dishes, cooking utensils, and even our table, all snugly
stowed away in the little boat, we left our quiet home in Bangkok, the
capital city.
[Illustration: MISSIONARY-BOAT FOR TOURING IN SIAM.]
Ascending the beautiful Menam River, we made our way among numerous
boats of every size and description, ships displaying the flags of
several different nations, and gayly-painted, clumsy Chinese junks
that were moored by their huge cables in the stream, and on, on we
went, leaving the busy, idolatrous city behind us. At five o’clock we
stopped at a pleasant Buddhist temple by the river-side for our
evening meal. This finished, we moved on for an hour or two after
dark, and then moored our boat for the night by fastening it to two
bamboo poles which our men had planted in the soft mud near the bank.
Here let me tell you what our sleeping arrangements were for each
night. What had been our dining- and sitting-room through the day was
soon converted into a bedroom, and in a very simple way too. The seats
of our boat were arranged along the sides, omnibus-fashion, and,
filling up the space between these with boards made for the purpose,
we had our bedstead, and our boat-cushions made our bed. Having spread
our bedding and hung up the indispensable mosquito-net by strings from
the four corners of the roof, we were ready to commend ourselves to
the kind care of Him who never slumbers, and lay us down for a good
night’s sleep.
The boatmen spread their mats on the deck outside the cabin, and,
putting up a kind of temporary roof made of leaves fastened together,
they were protected from the dew, and were contented and happy.
Generally at daylight every morning the men would move on a while
before breakfast. We always preferred to stop for meals or for the
night near some temple or village.
While taking our dinner one day the two windows of our boat on the
side of the river-bank being open, the people who were collected there
seemed much pleased to see us use knives, forks and spoons. It was a
novel sight to them, as they use the fingers instead. An aged couple
watched us with much seeming interest for some time, and then the
husband said to his wife, “_Kin yark nuk_” (They eat with great
difficulty).
When we first went to Siam not one woman or little girl in one hundred
could read, although all the boys are taught by the priests in the
temples to read and to write. One day a very bright, interesting
little girl, twelve years old perhaps, came to our boat to see the
strangers, and when asked if she could read, she did not answer yes or
no, but with surprise exclaimed, “Why, I’m a _girl_!” as if we ought
to have known better than to ask a girl such a question.
One day, while our cook was preparing our simple meal of rice and
curry, we walked out into the pleasant grounds of a temple. Here we
found a fine large tree whose beautiful white, wax-like flowers
attracted us by their fragrance. While gathering some of them a young
man came up and spoke to us. Fearing he would think we were going to
offer the flowers to the idols in the temple, Dr. House said, “I am
not going to offer these, as you would, to idols which can neither see
nor smell them, but shall give them to my wife, who can enjoy them.”
The tree seemed almost alive with gay butterflies. Several priests had
gathered about us, and when they were asked if all this life and
happiness and beauty did not make them think there must be a wise and
good Creator who made the trees, flowers and butterflies with their
gay dress, they replied “_Pen eng_” (They made themselves). Oh, is it
not sad that the religion of this poor people teaches them there is no
living God, no Creator who made this beautiful world? The dead god
Buddha that they worship, whose images are in every temple, was but a
man like themselves, and, now that he has left the world, knows and
cares nothing about it.
An old priest begged our umbrella. The doctor said, “If I give it to
you, very soon you will want to make merit, and will perhaps spread it
over some senseless idol of brick and mortar that cannot feel the heat
as we do.” Soon after, as they followed us to the boat, we actually
saw an old umbrella which the wind had blown from a dilapidated image
it had sheltered. When reminded of what had just been said, they
laughed heartily, but I fear were not convinced of the folly of doing
such things.
In the listening group one day was a gray-headed man, who asked, “Is
Jesus the same as God?” “What must we do that the Lord Jesus may save
us?” “What deeds of merit must we do to be followers of the true God?”
When we told him that we left our home, our parents and our friends,
and journeyed many thousand miles over the sea, on purpose to tell him
and his countrymen of the religion of Jesus, the only Saviour from
sin, he thanked us. We gave him a gospel tract on prayer, hoping that
the light he had received might lead him to pray for more.
On one occasion we stopped at an old preaching-place to rest. Let me
tell you what a queer place it was for a sermon. It was a large room
open on all sides and decorated with sticks of very small bamboo, to
which were pasted small triangular pieces of white paper. Thousands of
these were clustered fancifully together. From the ceiling in the
centre of the room hung a piece of cloth two or three yards long, on
which was a coarse picture of Buddha with a disciple on each side of
him, and above them in the clouds angels with flowers. Below them, on
a black ground to represent darkness, were painted persons suffering
the torments of hell and the priests trying to assist them.
The pulpit was a kind of high, armed chair, coarsely decorated. In
this the yellow-robed priests sit cross-legged and preach in a
singsong tone. Seeing two images of Buddha there, we told those
assembled of the sin and folly of trusting in them. A young man
replied at once, “How should we know better, when there is no one to
tell us? I beg to listen while you tell us;” and he did listen very
attentively. His question touchingly reminded us of the words of Paul:
“How shall they call on Him in whom they have not believed? and how
shall they believe in Him of whom they have not heard? and how shall
they hear without a preacher? and how shall they preach, except they
be sent?” (Rom. 10:14).
One day we visited an image-house, and found one idol that had fallen
over backward, another without a head, another without arms. When we
came out an old priest asked us if we had been in to worship. We
replied, “No, indeed! What we saw there were objects of pity rather
than of adoration. They cannot take care of themselves, cannot hold
themselves up; what can they do for you or for us?”
Thus we went from one village to another, conversing with hundreds of
the people and giving away our books until they were gone.
A VISIT TO THE “MECCA” OF THE SIAMESE.
Every February multitudes of the Siamese visit Prabat. The word means
sacred foot, and it is supposed that Buddha left a clear imprint of
his foot in a rock on a mountain there, which is a standing proof to
all his followers that he once not only really lived upon earth, but
that he visited Siam.
[Illustration: PRABAT.]
Let me tell you of a visit Dr. House and I once made to this sacred
spot. As most of the traveling in Siam is in boats, we left home in
ours one fine day in February, taking with us some Christian books and
tracts. We ascended the beautiful Menam River, passing many
thatched-roof villages and scores of temples. At Ayuthia, the old
capital of the kingdom, we took the eastern branch of the river, and
on the evening of the third day we reached Ta Rua, where we made our
way to a landing-place through an immense number of boats of every
description. From here we were to proceed by land to Prabat, a
distance of about fourteen miles, and after engaging an elephant and
making other arrangements, little time was left us for rest.
At two o’clock in the morning we were awakened and told that the
elephant was in readiness. It was quite dark, and as by the dim
torchlight I saw before me the huge form of the creature I was to
mount, I confess to considerable reluctance and trembling. My husband
climbed up first, and then, the elephant putting out his knee to
receive me as it had him, I stepped upon it and with help managed to
reach my lofty perch. The driver kept his place astride the creature’s
neck. One of the men scrambled up behind, and we were off, leaving the
others to follow us soon in a buffalo-cart. It was too dark for any
but a practiced eye to see the road, and in less than half an hour our
driver contrived to lose the way, so that until daylight we groped on
through the jungle, not knowing into what pit the beast might fall or
when it might brush against a tree and throw us off. Committing
ourselves to the great Care-taker, we watched for the first rays of
morning light to guide us on our course, and when some time after
sunrise we struck upon the beaten path we were happy and grateful
indeed. Now I could see where I was, and found myself seated in a
howdah, or covered saddle, made of strong wood. The top was a kind of
basket-work lined with leaves, and so arranged as to protect us from
sun and rain and from branches of trees as we passed. The elephant was
about nine feet high, and the seat was raised at least a foot above
his back. To novices the elephant-ride is apt to be rather alarming.
Our road much of the way lay through a beautiful piece of woods, the
trees sometimes forming an arch over our heads. We passed multitudes
of pilgrims going or returning, some riding on elephants, some in
buffalo-carts and some on foot; also groups of natives seated by the
wayside with _kowlan_ (rice cooked in joints of bamboo), palm-tree
sugar, wild honey in the comb, etc., to sell to passers-by. I enjoyed
the ride and the novelty of the scenes around me very much. The motion
and the creaking sound reminded us of an old-fashioned stage-coach on
springs. The driver was asked how so huge an animal could be so easily
controlled by man. He held up his stick, at the end of which was, not
a lash, but a pointed iron spike or hook about three inches long and
as large as one’s finger. He said, “This is what makes them
submissive.” Well may the poor creatures fear it, for it is sometimes
driven most unmercifully into their heads.
Our kind heavenly Father watched over us, our beast behaved nobly, and
we arrived at Prabat safely about ten o’clock in the morning, instead
of at seven, as we should if we had not lost our way. Here, nestling
under the rocky sides of the mountain, were several _wats_,
or monasteries, with their many dwellings for the priests,
preaching-places, and huge image-houses, like the one seen on the
right of the picture (p. 103). Hundreds of bamboo huts had been newly
erected for the accommodation of the multitudes there assembled. The
air was filled with the melody of sweet-toned bells and the lively
tinkling music of numerous Siamese bands. A newly-vacated priests’
house in one of the monasteries was soon put at our disposal. It
contained but a single small room, with two windows and a little low
door. There was a veranda on one side, where our servants could be
accommodated. Travelers, in this country especially, must not be
fastidious, and we were too glad to secure the shelter and the
retirement the little dormitory promised to be disposed to look
farther. On taking possession we found an old rice-pot, remnants of
priests’ yellow robes and plenty of dirt. One of our men soon disposed
of the rubbish and made all as clean as he could without broom or
water. Furnishing the room with the mats and cushions brought with us
from the boat, we seated ourselves upon them Siamese fashion and with
good appetites partook of our midday meal.
Before us we could see the picturesque mountain with its many
white-spired pagodas and the splendid shrine or temple which is built
over the sacred footprint. In the picture it is the elegant structure
which you see, with a seven-storied roof terminating in a graceful
tapering spire (p. 103). The whole being richly gilded, the rays of
the sun resting upon it made it very beautiful. Having dined, we made
our way to this temple. The rocky platform on which it stands is
reached by some fifty or more steps (not seen in the picture), which
devout Buddhists always ascend on their knees. Its outer walls are
covered with bright mosaic. The large double doors are beautifully
inlaid with figures of mother-of-pearl. On the inner walls are painted
scenes from the life of Buddha. The apartment is about thirty feet
square, and the floor is covered with plates of what they say is
silver. On the walls hangs what is said to be a representation of the
footprint, set with jewels and made of beaten gold. It is about four
feet long and one and a half broad. Of what is worshiped as the
footprint itself we could see nothing but a dark oblong opening in the
floor like a small open grave. It is enclosed in a railing about a
foot high, said to be of solid silver, and over it is an elegant gilt
canopy with curtains of gold cloth at the sides.
There were many worshipers within the temple, and a great number of
small wax candles or tapers burning. The poor devotees entered the
sacred spot on their knees, and, crawling beside the footprint, bowed
the head three times to the floor and laid their offering within the
enclosure. Then, crawling to some water that had probably been blessed
by the priests, they sprinkled their heads, and left the room, as they
entered it, upon their knees. Some who perhaps were too poor to make
any offering took up a priest’s fan and with all the solemnity
possible fanned the footprint. All these ceremonies were performed in
perfect silence, and the place seemed truly solemn. Oh, how my heart
ached to tell them the folly of all these things, and to point them to
the almighty One whose footprints can everywhere be traced in nature!
When we were returning from the temple a messenger came running after
us and invited us to the house of his master, who proved to be a
nobleman of high rank from Bangkok. We had a very pleasant visit.
Oranges and wild honey were served, and we drank tea poured from a
massive gold teapot into tiny china cups. Many heard that afternoon
the message we had brought. Reaching our house at evening, we spread
our mats and took our seats upon the veranda. A crowd of people, who,
like all the rest, had come there to make merit, soon collected around
us. They supposed we also came to make merit, and there was no lack of
opportunity for us to do so by giving to the various beggars that
presented themselves. First came two distressed lepers. One, not able
to walk, hitched himself along on the ground. He beat a Siamese drum
with the stumps of his fingers, while the other beat two pieces of
bamboo together, both singing at the same time the sad tale of their
sufferings and inability to earn a living. Complimenting our
generosity in advance, they begged for money. As they were really
objects of pity, we gave each of them a small silver coin, upon which
they broke forth in a shower of blessings: “May you flourish in this
state of being and in the next――have elephants, horses and servants,
silver and gold, rice, salt and every good thing! May your age be
lengthened out to a hundred years, a thousand years! May you have
handsome children――sons who shall be priests and head priests! May you
live in a well-built house with many roofs!” etc. A blind man came
singing and beating two pieces of brass together; then an old man with
a withered arm; and so they kept coming as long as we would listen to
them. We improved the opportunity to tell these poor creatures the
story of the blessed Jesus, who, while upon earth, healed the leper,
restored the withered hand and gave sight to the blind, and who is now
both able and willing to heal the greater maladies of the soul.
The next day was the Sabbath, and during morning worship with our
servants many came around the door to listen. After worship Dr. House
left me to receive any visitors who might call for conversation or
books, and went forth on his labor of love, spending the day till dusk
among the people. Hundreds heard from his lips of the great Being who
made them and of the Redeemer who died to save them, and among them
were many attentive listeners.
Monday morning we left for home. About eight o’clock there were two
elephants at the door for ourselves and our men. This time we mounted
ours with the help of a ladder placed against his side, and now, more
at home in the lofty saddle, I quite enjoyed my ride. No special
adventure befell us on the way, and about one o’clock we reached our
boat and found all in it safe. Paying our boat-keeper his moderate
charge for the care of it during our absence, and having rested and
dined, we were soon in our boat and again on our homeward way. We
visited the villages on the banks, distributed our remaining books,
and talked with the people in their homes and the priests in their
_wats_, or temples.
CHAPTER IV.
_IN AND ABOUT PETCHABUREE._
Our mission-boat, with its drawers and cupboards and shelves for
storing away food, clothes, etc., awaits us at Bangkok. Rowers are
hired for twenty-four cents per day, with enough rice for food. We
start out with the rising tide in our favor. The boat moves steadily
on. Reading, conversation and sleeping fill our time. At last we
notice that the houses along the banks are larger and better built,
and, passing around a bend of the river, we see our mission compound,
consisting of three large brick houses and one smaller. Two of the
houses are occupied by the mission family; the third is the
Petchaburee Home for Siamese girls, in charge of the missionary
ladies. The chapel front is used for worship each morning. The small
house is Dr. Sturge’s hospital.
Leaving the boat, we climb the steps on the left bank, and enter the
yard with its green grass and blooming flowers. We are gladly
welcomed, for our arrival here is a great treat.
[Illustration: HOUSE AT PETCHABUREE.]
Siam is one of the hot countries where everything moves slowly. Our
boat-trip of from thirty-six to forty-eight hours has made us glad to
rest till evening. When it is cooler we will take a walk to the
nearest mountain, which is about three-quarters of a mile from the
mission compound. The road along the river-bank is forty or fifty feet
wide and very smooth, and shaded on either side by beautiful trees. We
pass several native houses, and come to a beautiful grassy plain,
beyond which are rice-fields reaching to the foot of “The Mountain of
the Highest Heaven.” On its summit stands the large royal summer
palace, built by the late supreme king, whose white buildings glitter
in the sun and form a beautiful contrast to the green ranges of
distant hills. His Majesty and his court spend part of every year
here. A paved walk with steps leads up the hill. Passing some plain
two-story brick buildings, you come to the wide terraces and
surrounding barracks of His Majesty’s private apartments, the walls of
which are covered with rough paintings representing some of the
Buddhistic fables. The floor of the king’s reception-room is paved
with marble blocks about a foot square, and at one side is a raised
seat for the king. Royalty in Siam never sits on a level with common
people. A very pretty Brussels mat is placed for the king’s feet, and
when he visits the palace a set of stuffed chairs covered with blue
brocade satin are brought to ornament the place.
There are a number of smaller buildings surrounding the palace for the
numerous attendants of the king. On the very summit of the hill,
separate from the palace, is a large audience-hall――a long, low room,
almost entirely bare, with a semi-circular throne, consisting of four
stone steps, at one end. Two large Siamese paintings――“The Reception
of the French Ambassadors at Court” and “Bonzes Worshiping
Gaudama”――are painted on the side-walls. There is also a round brick
tower about thirty feet in height, used as an observatory. The view
from this tower is enchanting――on one side extensive fields of ripened
paddy, groves of sugar-palms and cocoanuts, with here and there a hill
rising abruptly from the plain; the city, the river, the canals, and
far off to the east the blue waters of the gulf; west and south there
extend at least three distinct ranges of low, thickly-wooded hills.
If it were earlier in the day we would ascend the mountain and visit
the Buddhist temple and large pagoda near, and measure the great image
of Buddha, each foot seven feet long, with fingers and toes as large
around as the body of a stout person; but it is nearing sunset and we
turn our faces homeward.
Our road now leads through rice-fields, which reach to the foot of the
mountain. We meet people coming home from their work in the fields.
Some of them have poles across their shoulders, to which are attached
bundles of sticks for fuel or perhaps sheaves of rice which they have
gathered. Some stop to speak to us or to look at us, and we give them
a tract or one of the Gospels; but we must not tarry, for when the sun
is gone in these tropical countries it is soon dark. The brick
building a little to the right as we return is the Presbyterian church
of Petchaburee.
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE MOUNTAINS OF PETCHABUREE.]
The next morning we take an early start for the Royal Cave. It is too
far to walk, so we ride over the road which we took before to the foot
of the mountain, then off to the right, a mile, to another mountain.
We leave the conveyance and climb the mountain-side to a gate, which
we enter, and find steps which lead down into the cave. The nooks and
corners are filled with idols and figures representing the miseries of
the lost, and the bottom of the cave is paved with tiles and
surrounded on all sides with rows of idols, large and small. The cave
itself is grand, with its columns of stalactites and stalagmites. From
one of the former water drops so fast that a plaster basin has been
made to receive it. This water is very cool and pleasant to drink. An
opening at the top of the cave admits the sunshine and brightens the
whole scene. Here are two large rooms, the second unpaved, but having
rows of idols, and being lighted from the top like the first. Passing
through this room, we come into a narrow way as dark as possible,
leading into a very small space lighted from above, where we find a
very long ladder. Up, up, we go, and again we find ourselves on the
mountain-side. We are glad to return home, for the heat has grown very
oppressive while we have been in the cave.
At about three o’clock we will take a walk to the city to see the
market, and as we stroll along the bank of the river we pass the three
brick houses belonging to the ex-regent of Siam. These are thickly
shaded by large trees, and the green lawn is bounded by a hedge. Here
we enter a street of the city, and soon come to a massive bridge, and,
turning to the left, cross the river and find ourselves upon the main
street of the city. It seems strange to call it a city, and yet its
population is estimated at twenty thousand. The streets are very
narrow and have no sidewalks. Some of the houses are brick and some
bamboo. The stores have an open room next the street, with a little
porch where the salesman or saleswoman sits. The people who have
brought articles to market for sale have arranged their wares on
either side the street, and now we are surrounded by fish, pork,
vegetables and fruits in such abundance that it is difficult to make
one’s way among them.
As we pass up the street we come to a large open gate on either side.
That on the left opens into the governor’s grounds. His Excellency is
hearing a case. The court-room is simply a shed, where the governor
sits on a chair or bench, while the accused and accuser, the witnesses
and judges, sit on the ground at his feet. The gate on the right opens
into a yard surrounding the new courthouse, a good brick building,
from which a walk leads to the river. This river is like one street of
the city, for boats are passing and repassing constantly.
Leaving the market, we pass on and find the houses built farther
apart, and there are more shade-trees. The people on either side are
cooking their rice, and some are already eating. Soon we come to a
nice clean cross-street, and, following this, we reach another running
parallel with the river, and the prettiest street of the city. It has
plenty of shade and several temples, including one in Chinese
architecture, highly ornamented. In the temple-grounds are some very
pretty flowers, and when we reach the governor’s place we find a
really beautiful garden, with a summer-house covered with blooming
vines standing in the midst, surrounded by a variety of well-selected
and beautifully-arranged flowers. A little farther on we come to a
cross-street that brings us to the vice-governor’s place, back across
the main street and to the bridge. We pause here for our final look at
the lovely scene. Up and down the river boats are passing constantly.
On either side of the stream are stately palms, the spreading mango
and the feathery branches of the bamboo. Facing the bridge where we
stand is Palace Mountain, with its sides dressed in green and its
summit crowned with the brilliancy of the setting sun. We gaze on its
splendor, and as we stand hushed by the beauty all about us, our
hearts go up in prayer that it may be but a symbol of the beauty of
holiness that shall soon cover this fair land.
CHAPTER V.
_THE ANIMALS OF SIAM._
Provided with a tropical climate, the forests and jungles, the air and
the water of Siam, teem with animal life. The elephant heads the list.
It is said that the king can muster thousands of trained elephants for
service in war. Tigers and bears, rhinoceri, deer, wild goats and
porcupines are numerous. The bones of the tiger are sold as a tonic,
and rhinoceros-horns sell in Bangkok for more than their weight in
silver. The cattle are small, and are used only to tread out the grain
or with pack-saddles to transport rice, silk or army supplies. The
buffalo, or ungainly water-ox, takes the place of our oxen. The
Siamese have no milch cattle, and know nothing of butter or cheese,
and their religion forbids them to slaughter for food.
While the Siamese have great veneration for the white elephant, the
white monkey, the white squirrel and some other white animals, they
have a great dislike to a white cat. Their cats differ from ours in
color. Some have long tails and some short ones; some have curled
tails that look as if they had a knot tied in them, and some have no
tails at all.
Miserable yellow dogs of the pariah race may be counted by thousands.
They are a great annoyance to missionaries when they go into the
country distributing books from house to house. We have had seven or
eight rush out at us from one house, and it was only by the greatest
watchfulness on our part and that of our servants that they could be
kept from pouncing upon us. It really requires a brave heart to
venture among them on such occasions.
[Illustration: MONKEYS.]
When out in the country in our boats we have seen scores of monkeys
with their young leaping from branch to branch on the trees or playing
their antics on the bank, and thousands of bats, that prey upon the
fruit-gardens by night, and during the day may be seen hanging by
their feet in their shady haunts.
[Illustration: JAVA SPARROWS.]
Siam has a variety of birds――the snow-white rice-bird, the kingfisher,
the gay peacock, the pheasant, the parrot, and thieving crows of
amazing number and audacity. There are many singing birds, among them
a species of thrush that imitates all the sounds he hears. He will
imitate the human voice, and bark, mew and crow. There is a small
black-and-white bird that sings very sweetly at daybreak. Our domestic
fowl is at home in Siamese jungles. Pelicans and other waterfowl
abound.
The chief food of the common people is fish. They are found in great
variety, and some of them are delicious. The streams so swarm with
them that they often jump into the passing boats.
[Illustration: THE COBRA.]
There are snakes, scorpions and centipedes in Siam, all of which
frequently find their way into our houses. Some of the snakes are very
venomous; among these the cobra, or hooded serpent, is abundant, and
boa-constrictors ten and twelve feet long have often been killed while
robbing our hen-roosts in Bangkok. One morning, on going into my
bathroom, I found a snake three feet long. On another occasion, when
about to retire, we found a very poisonous one under our bed. One of
our missionaries carelessly left his trunk open, and when he went for
a change of linen, he found a snake coiled up in the bottom of it. I
have found scorpions on my bed-curtains, on my centre-table and
elsewhere, and frequently in my clothes-basket.
But more than all these we dreaded the mosquito, from which we were
never free, day or night. At some seasons of the year these little
tormentors were almost more than we could bear.
There are ants too, large and small, black, white and red, and their
name is legion. Sideboards, tables or anything else in Siam upon which
food is placed must stand in bowls of water or oil, and it will not do
to forget this even for a few moments. One morning, on my way to the
dining-room, I stopped and admired my canary bird that was hanging on
my front veranda. Going out again after breakfast, I saw a procession
of beautiful yellow feathers moving along on a beam over head, and on
hastening to the cage I found my pet lying dead, stung to death by the
red ants and nearly stripped of its plumage. One of our missionary
families once went to spend a few weeks at another mission-station,
and on their return they found the white ants had come up through the
floor and had eaten their way through a trunk to the top, and every
fold of the garments needed mending.
We never wearied watching the fireflies as in countless multitudes
they would spread themselves over the branches of their favorite
trees, and alternately, with the utmost regularity and exactness, all
at once give out their diamond spark or hide their light in darkness.
We were often serenaded at evening as we sat on our veranda by
grasshoppers and crickets, while immense frogs would sing the bass in
the grand chorus.
Beautiful, harmless little lizards, about a finger long, ready for
their evening meal of mosquitoes and other insects, make their
appearance on our walls and ceilings as soon as the lamps are lighted.
I have often counted between twenty and thirty of them out at once.
There is another lizard, almost as large as a young kitten, which also
comes out on our walls for his evening meal, having hid through the
day behind our mirrors or pictures. It is quite harmless, but with its
loud outcry of _tookaah! tookaah!_ it often startles new-comers from
their midnight slumbers.
There are crocodiles in great numbers in the rivers and creeks of
Siam. In one day’s boatride on the Upper Menam, Dr. House once counted
one hundred and seventy, varying in size from three to fifteen feet.
Let me tell one or two true stories of crocodiles. When we were once
visiting the mission-station at Petchaburee a crocodile seized a young
girl twelve years old and devoured her, leaving only an arm in the
boat. The governor, wishing to destroy the monster, ordered a search
to be made for it, and invited us to see the captures which his men
made and brought to our landing. Three huge fellows, averaging twelve
feet each, lay securely pinioned on the bottom of their boat, but
neither of them proved to be the one sought for.
[Illustration: HUNTING THE CROCODILE.]
In the strange providence of God, whose kingdom ruleth over all, one
of these terrible creatures once became the means of salvation to a
Chinese fisherman in Siam, and through him of founding in a distant
and important town a native church which now has many Chinese
communicants. He was wading in the shallows at the head of the Gulf of
Siam, collecting shellfish, when what he supposed was a log drifting
toward him proved to be a huge crocodile, which attacked him fiercely,
biting off his hand, so that it only hung by the tendons of the wrist.
At his cries for help his comrades came and drove the creature away.
Mortification set in, which would have ended in death had he not
sought the missionary physician in Bangkok. My husband amputated the
arm, the stump healed kindly, and when, at the end of the month, he
left the mission hospital to return home, his gratitude and trust in
those whose Christian kindness and care had saved his life led him to
say that _their_ God, of whom they had told him, should henceforth be
_his_ God. From that time he gave up the worship of idols and refused
to work on the Christian Sabbath. As he spoke only the dialect used by
the brethren of the American Baptist mission, who are laboring among
the Chinese of Siam, he was referred to them for further instruction,
and was soon baptized. He invited the missionaries and native
assistant to make his house at Bangplasoi a preaching-station. Some of
his relatives and others were converted, a mission-chapel was built
(largely with his assistance), and now there are there several hundred
Chinese converts from heathenism, and Bangplasoi is an important
mission-station among the Chinese.
ELEPHANTS.
Having lived twenty years in “The Land of the White Elephant,” whose
king has for one of his titles “The Lord of the White Elephant,” and
whose flag is a white elephant on a red ground, having often ridden on
elephants, and my husband having twice narrowly escaped with his life
when traveling with them, once having been badly gored by one,――I may
be permitted to say something not only of the white elephant, but of
his less-esteemed relatives of a darker complexion.
[Illustration: ELEPHANTS AT HOME.]
Elephants are found in great numbers and perfection in Siam and the
Laos country at the north. Our missionaries at Cheung Mai, the capital
city of the Laos, tell us they not unfrequently see hundreds pass in a
single day, and when a prince leaves home he is accompanied by a train
of two or three hundred.
They sometimes attain to the height of ten or eleven feet, but
whatever their height may be, it is a fact, which we have often proved
by actual measurement, that it never exceeds twice the circumference
of the foot. They are very long-lived, sometimes living one hundred
and fifty years or more. They are used as beasts of burden and in war,
for dragging timber from the forests and for traveling, and their
tusks, it is well known, are a valuable article of commerce.
[Illustration: AN ELEPHANT PLOUGHING.]
It would be hardly possible for one to make his way through the
jungles of Siam without the elephant. He does not put his foot down
till he is sure it is safe to do so, and then _you_ may feel sure too.
He will remove with his trunk interlacing vines, projecting branches
of trees and everything that would hinder his progress, and if
necessary he will drag himself on knees or belly over a swamp. If he
has a stream to cross he will first, with his proboscis, find how deep
it is, then move slowly and cautiously till he gets beyond his depth,
when he will swim. He will descend into ravines into which men cannot
go, and will climb steep mountains. He will travel from four to five
miles an hour, and when weary will make known to his driver his wish
to rest by striking the ground with his trunk, making a peculiar and
unmistakable noise. A large trunk is considered a mark of great beauty
in an elephant, but as he always carries it himself, no one can object
to it. The driver is seated astride the neck. The elephant carries his
head so steadily that this is the most desirable seat, because there
is the least motion. It is the seat of honor for the king, who glories
in managing his own beast. The driver always carries with him a large
stick, at the end of which is a sharp-pointed iron hook, with which he
beats the animal, when unruly, unmercifully over the head and temples
till he is subdued.
Elephants are very sagacious animals, and many amusing and interesting
stories are told of them. It is said that one of them was once taught
to stand at the gate of the king’s palace and from a large vessel
placed there, filled with rice, take out some with a huge spoon and
give to every priest that passed. I cannot vouch for the truth of
this, but more wonderful instances of sagacity can be verified. The
white elephants in the king’s stables in Bangkok have been taught to
salute His Majesty by raising their trunks high above their heads.
While I resided in Siam an American friend went with his wife from
Bangkok through the wilderness to British Burmah. They traveled nearly
two hundred miles, and used some fourteen different elephants, paying
about fifty cents a day for each. At night these beasts were turned
out to browse among the bamboos, some of the drivers keeping watch.
When they were in the jungle bright fires were kept blazing. Awaking
one night from a sound sleep, and looking toward the blaze, my friend
saw among the outstretched sleeping men one of the huge elephants
seated on his haunches warming himself by the fire. He awoke his wife
to enjoy with him this strange and amusing sight in the solemn
stillness of the tropical forest.
In March of every year a large number of wild elephants are captured
at the city of Ayuthia, and from them His Majesty makes selections for
his royal stables in Bangkok. For eight or ten weeks hundreds of men
are employed to drive them from the forests where they roam, that they
may be nearer the city. On the day appointed for their capture a
number of tame ones are used to entice them into the enclosure
prepared for them, and they seem to take great pleasure and show
wonderful sagacity in helping to capture their kindred. They will hem
in some two hundred wild ones, and with the help of their drivers and
attendants compel them to enter through the gate into the enclosure.
Some go in quietly, and others make great resistance. Such as His
Majesty fancies are then secured by strong noosed ropes cautiously
slipped over their feet and fastened to trees or posts. When
thoroughly subdued by hunger or hard blows they are brought down to
Bangkok. After a time they become quite reconciled to their new
surroundings, and show no disposition to return to their forest home.
Nothing can equal the veneration of the Siamese for the so-called
white elephant, though the only really _white_ elephant is upon their
national flag. Sometimes one is found something the color of a Bath
brick (used for cleaning knives) or a little darker, and is so much
lighter-colored than usual that it is spoken of as _white_; but most
of these are only lighter in patches on shoulders, neck, head and
inside of the ears. All over the kingdom, when such an albino is
found, there is great rejoicing, and the finder is very handsomely
rewarded. They come, as a rule, from the Laos territory to the north.
The country whose king is the fortunate possessor of one or more of
these treasures is thought to be greatly blessed, and no amount of
money can purchase one. The royal stables of Bangkok are seldom
without an occupant. I have several times visited them. Siam should be
very prosperous now, as His Majesty has five of these so-called white
elephants. They are kept in a long block of buildings at the rear of
the arsenal. Each one has an entire stable for his own use, his grooms
and attendants sleeping at one end of it. The stable is high and
spacious, and at one end is a small image of Buddha with lamps burning
in front. Each has a royal title, and there is a handsome sign over
the door giving in large gilt letters the full name and title of the
inmate. The great beast stands on a handsomely-built pedestal raised
about a foot from the floor, with its top just large enough to hold
him. He has rings of gold on his tusks, and is fastened by one fore
and one hind foot to gilded posts with ropes covered with crimson
velvet. These royal captives are fed with bananas, sugar-cane and
other dainties, and with small bundles of fresh grass, all carried to
them on silver salvers by men on their knees. Every want of these
royal beasts is carefully attended to. A recent visitor says: “He
stands proudly yet restlessly on his contracted throne, and lashes his
trunk and sways his heavy head and tusks around in an imperious,
lordly manner, trumpeting now and then until the whole hall trembles
with the deafening reverberation. When he is seen to itch in any part
of his body his royal hide is promptly scratched with a small iron
rake-like instrument with a long handle; his eyes are reverently
wiped, and he has a cool sponge-bath every hour or two of day and
night during the hot season.”
When one of these rare creatures is found in any of the northern
provinces the governor of that province sees that he is comfortably
escorted through the forest to the river, where he is received on a
handsomely-decorated raft of bamboos, placed in a canopy in the centre
of the raft, garlanded with flowers and pampered with delicacies. The
king, with his whole court in their elegant barges, and myriads of
people in boats, with banners and music, go up the river two days’
journey to meet him. As all are anxious to share the honor of bringing
him down to the city, each boat has a rope attached to the raft, and
shouts of joy fill the air as he progresses. On arriving, a pavilion
in the palace-grounds is ready to receive him, a title is given him
and slaves appointed to care for him. A public festival of a week’s
continuance is appointed; priests of the highest grade chant prayers
in his presence daily. When sick he is attended by the wisest of the
court physicians; the priests wait upon him, sprinkle him with
consecrated water and pray for his recovery. If he dies there is
universal mourning, and funeral honors are paid to his remains.
One day a strange procession passed down the river in front of our
house in Bangkok. There were eight large barges, six of them with
curtains of crimson and gold cloth, each manned by about thirty
boatmen dressed in red trousers, jackets and caps. They had a brass
band, which made very mournful music, for it was a funeral occasion.
The first impression was that some personage eminent for rank was
being borne to sepulture; but no, this procession was simply doing
honor to the dead body of a light-colored elephant.
The third and fourth boats had no gay curtains, but they had the
five-storied umbrellas which denote great rank, and between these two
boats the corpse was fastened and floated in the water. There was a
canopy of white cloth over it to protect it from the sun. Phya is a
title given to a high order of nobility in Siam, and this
distinguished elephant was named Phya Sawate. It was so highly
esteemed that more than two hundred men escorted it to its last
resting-place.
Now, why such parade and ceremony? For the strange reason that the
Siamese, with all other Buddhists, believe that at death their spirits
pass into the body of some man or animal, of more or less importance
according to the amount of merit made while living, and that they may
be thus born thousands of times. If they find an elephant of a lighter
complexion than usual, they think the spirit of some distinguished
person dwells in it――possibly, that of some future Buddha, sure to
bring a blessing on the country which possesses so great a treasure.
We hope that the day will soon come when Christianity will supplant
Buddhism, and the Siamese be wise enough to prize the elephant only
for what it can do in the service of man.
RECEPTION OF A WHITE ELEPHANT AT THE COURT OF SIAM.
A few years ago two Siamese peasants of the up-country, far to the
north, were ordered by the governor of the province to go out into the
jungle and hunt for a white elephant. The “Stones,” or astrologers,
having prophesied that the present reign would be especially lucky,
and that several of these spotted or albino elephants would be caught,
constant vigilance had been enjoined on all the provincial officials
of these regions, and large royal bounty was promised to the finders
of such a prize.
Accordingly, leaving their homes and families, these poor men went out
to live in the malarious jungle, wandering hither and thither for many
weary weeks in vain, by day forcing their way through the rank
undergrowth, anxiously following the tracks of the wild elephants up
and down the streams, living on the fruit that grew on trees unplanted
by man and the fish in the mountain-lakes; at night bivouacking under
the stars, each in turn watching while the other slept to keep up the
great fire built to protect their resting-spot from the fierce animals
prowling about under the cover of darkness. Thus day after day and
week after week they sought for the coveted white elephant which
should ensure to those who found him the richest reward.
At length, on the very point of giving up their search in despair,
they had turned their faces homeward, when all of a sudden a small,
beautifully-formed elephant was seen at a distance, drinking. He was
all muddy and dirty, and at first sight appeared darker than the
ordinary color of this animal. But some peculiarity in the skin
aroused hope. “Let us creep nearer and trap him,” they whispered. This
was an easy task to such skilled native hunters. The iris of the eye,
the color of which is held to be a good test of an albino, encouraged
their faint expectation; it was a pale Neapolitan yellow.
One of them said, “We will take him home and give him a wash.” This
was done, and to their great joy the whole body proved to be of a pale
Bath-brick color, with a few real white hairs on the back. There could
be no longer room for doubt; they had truly captured one of the
world-renowned white elephants. Indeed, competent experts pronounced
it to be the “fairest” ever caught within living memory. The ears and
tail were beautiful; the hair, the nails, the eyes, all were
indicative of the very highest family. He proved a pure albino,
so-called “white.”
The whole kingdom was thrown into a state of the wildest excitement as
the news spread east and west, north and south. Swift runners carried
the glad tidings from hamlet to hamlet. “A white elephant has been
captured!” was in every mouth. A fleet messenger bore the official
document with the formal announcement down the river to Bangkok. The
king loaded his ears with gold. Each person in any way connected with
this great capture received some token of royal favor. The governor of
the province was made a phya; the poor finders were loaded with honors
and emoluments, at one step taking their places among the nobles of
the kingdom and receiving royal gifts and grants of land. His
Excellency the governor of one of the other provinces was despatched
with a suite of high officials and attendants skilled in the
management of elephants to escort this latest addition to the royal
stables.
The date fixed for the actual reception of the royal stranger at the
capital was June 21st, and will long remain a red-letter day in the
Siamese annals. His Majesty, with his entire royal retinue, went up
the river sixty miles to Ayuthia, the ancient capital of Siam, some
days in advance, to meet the illustrious captive regarded as a
palladium for his own life and the prosperity of the empire. In
magnificently-adorned barges, escorting the noble beast to the capital
with great parade, music and rejoicings, the brilliant procession
returned.
[Illustration: THE WHITE ELEPHANT.]
Very early in the day the whole city was astir. The most intense
excitement prevailed. It was a great fête occasion. Old and young in
holiday garb thronged the verandas of the floating houses in Bangkok.
Crowds of country-folk from miles around flocked to the river, filling
the wat-grounds or crouching on their haunches along the banks,
waiting patiently for hours to catch a passing glimpse of the new
white elephant.
The deep, wide river reflected the brilliancy of the blue sky overhead
and the innumerable barges and boats gayly decorated with bunting;
flags fluttered and gilt pagoda-spires glittered in the tropical
sunlight above the mass of foliage and monotonous sloping roofs on
either shore.
Near the palace-grounds, as the time drew near for the procession to
approach, there was much running to and fro,――officials on horseback
galloping about, soldiers and marines in European uniforms drawn up
along the sides of the road, many carrying streamers or flags. Several
huge elephants in magnificent trappings, each bearing on his back a
richly-ornamented howdah and guided by a gayly-dressed _carnac_, or
driver, were brought down to the landing-place to meet the royal
procession. Near the bank stood a group of priests and white-robed
Brahmans with tall cone-shaped hats ornamented with broad gold bands.
Princes in full state uniforms were carried in litters, preceded and
followed by attendants bearing their insignia of official or social
rank――rods, seals, huge gilt umbrellas, betel-boxes, teapots,
water-goblets and all the ordinary trappings of the Siamese grandee
when he takes his walks or drives abroad.
The national air, played by a brass band, heralded the approach of the
“conquering hero;” Siamese musicians performed with more noise than
musical effect on tomtoms, conch-shells and other native instruments;
heralds and chamberlains of the king’s body-guard preceded His
Majesty, seated cross-legged in a richly-inlaid chair, beneath the
huge royal umbrella. He wore a white India helmet, and numerous
jeweled orders adorned the breast of his crimson-and-gold coat. Pages
followed with gold betel-boxes and other costly articles. The highest
grandees of the kingdom brought up the rear.
A temporary stable had been erected for this illustrious albino
pachyderm just outside the palace-grounds. He was mounted on a
platform, and his hind leg was attached by a rope to a white post.
Here, after numerous washings by pouring over him tamarind-water to
cleanse away all possible impurities, the new elephant was publicly
baptized and received official title as a grandee of Siam; after which
a high priest fed him with a piece of sugar-cane on which was written
his new title in full: Phra Sawet Sakoula Warophat, etc., etc., this
title including a long description of the great dignity, beauty,
virtues and priceless value of the royal animal. He was then brought
into the palace precincts and assigned a royal stable and numerous
attendants, who serve him with the respect shown to royalty itself,
and generally approach to feed and groom him on their hands and knees.
A recent visitor to Bangkok thus describes him in his present home:
“One only of their number, the fifth and last one obtained, is of a
faint brick-red over his entire body, which gives him an odd and not
altogether unpleasant appearance. He is, moreover, young, lively and
good-natured, and salaams by raising his trunk straight and high above
his head to all well-dressed visitors in a way which quite scandalizes
his keepers, who have taught all the others to reserve that salute
solely for the king. Were he not himself too royal to be whipped, I
dare say that this merry pachyderm might soon be taught to recognize
the honor reserved to royalists. Time was when these beasts were duly
worshiped by king and people; their stables were palaces; they were
fed from golden dishes, and wore heavy gold rings upon their tusks and
were fettered with golden chains. Even now the populace fall with
their heads to the ground as they are led out richly caparisoned on
state occasions, while the royal officers, and even the king himself,
always make them obeisance in passing.”
CHAPTER VI.
_THE CHINESE IN SIAM._
The Chinese have been in Siam since time immemorial, and have
increased, until now the Siamese say that more than half the
population is Chinese.
There is no census taken in this country, and even the government has
no positive means of knowing the number of inhabitants. But we may
safely suppose the above statement to be true. The deck of every
steamer and sailing craft from China is swarming with these ubiquitous
Celestials. In the year 1767 the Burmese invaded Siam, sacked Ayuthia,
the old capital, and carried away many captives. Prya-Tahksin, a
Siamo-Chinese, rallied the Siamese forces, defeated the Burmese and
drove them out of the country. He took the throne, fortified the town
of Bangkok and made it the capital. He reigned fifteen years, and was
then defeated by Somdet Pra Baroma Rahchah Pra Pretta Yaut Fah, who
was the first king of the present dynasty, Prabat Somdet Pra
Paramendr-Maha-Chula-Long-Korn-Klow, the present sovereign, being the
fifth.
Chinese of wealth often become favorites with the rulers and receive
titles of nobility, and these noblemen in return present their
daughters to their majesties. Thus we find Chinese blood flowing in
the veins of the royal family of Siam.
[Illustration: HOME OF RICH CHINAMAN.]
Although a Chinaman may have left a wife in his native land, that does
not prevent his taking as many others as he can support. The first
Siamese wife is supreme, and rules the many-sided household without
opposition. Intermarriage with the different tribes found in Siam does
not change to any extent their native characteristics. The children
inherit the same peculiar traits of character. They have the same
almond-shaped eyes and copper complexion, cultivate their hair in
queue style, and wear the same fashion of dress which their Chinese
ancestors wore centuries ago.
The Chinese element in Siam is a powerful one. No other race can
compete with it, not even excepting the Caucasian. We find the Chinese
in every department of business. They are extensive ship-owners. In
the days when Siam had a sailing fleet of merchantmen the owners were
principally Chinese, as were also the shippers and crews. Even when
commanded by a European captain, the supercargo on board was a
Chinaman and had chief control.
Since steamships have been introduced we find that the owners and
agents of some of these are Chinamen. The saw-mills and rice-mills
worked by muscle-power are all owned by Chinese, and since the
introduction of steam-mills they are not slow to adopt these modern
improvements, so that now several steam saw-mills and rice-mills are
owned by enterprising Chinamen. When business was dull and Europeans
stopped their mills, the Chinese kept theirs running. One reason for
this is that the Chinese can live more cheaply than Europeans, and are
satisfied with smaller profits.
They are our gardeners, shopkeepers, carpenters, bricklayers, tailors,
sailors, shoemakers, blacksmiths, fishermen and washermen. All the
mills employ Chinese coolies; all cargo-boats for loading and
unloading ships are manned by these coolies. Europeans prefer the
Chinese for servants: they are cleanly and quick to learn, frugal in
their habits, utilizing everything. In the possession of all these
traits they stand alone amidst surrounding tribes.
But the curse of opium-smoking and _shamshu_-drinking has followed
them to this sunny land, and makes shipwreck of many thousands of
lives annually. When they once become addicted to the use of opium
they neglect their business and families and spend every cent they can
find or steal for the poisonous drug, and finally, in a crazed state,
their bodies mere skeletons, they lie down and die or put an end to
their own lives.
Change of climate, scene and associations has no appreciable effect on
the disposition of a Chinaman. He still retains his acquisitive,
irascible and turbulent temperament. The Chinese herd together in
little rooms, perhaps a score of them eating, working and sleeping in
one little room in which a white man would die of suffocation. They
are very clannish too, the natives of each province holding together
and working to promote the interests of their own particular clan.
They have frequent quarrels with the natives of other provinces.
Some time ago there was quite a serious quarrel between certain clans.
The trouble is said to have originated with the Ang Yees, a secret
society. They resorted to knives and firearms, and a number were
killed. The government took the matter up and decapitated several of
them, which put a quietus upon the others for the time.
The Chinese are very daring. There are organized bands of robbers, who
go up and down the river robbing boats and breaking into native
houses, and committing murder in some cases where resistance is
offered. One house in the very shadow of the palace was entered and a
large sum of money taken. The ringleaders were caught and beheaded,
and the people are now feeling more secure in life and property.
The Chinese are inveterate gamblers. Much of the hard-earned wages of
the laboring classes is lost in the gambling dens. The gambling
establishments are all in the hands of the Chinese. Gambling, like
many other things in Siam, is a monopoly, and the government sells to
the highest bidder the privilege of licensing and controlling all such
establishments in the country. He has the right to arrest and punish
all those who infringe upon his privileges. Men, women and little
children all frequent the gambling-places. Cards and dice are both
used. The lottery monopoly is also in the hands of the Chinese.
Every Chinaman must pay a triennial poll-tax of two dollars and
seventy-five cents. As a proof that this tax has been paid they must
wear a cord around the wrist fastened with the gum of a certain tree
and stamped with the government seal. A great many try to evade this
law by keeping in retirement until the time for taxation is passed.
The Siamese captives are liable at any time to be called upon to do
government work, and to escape it they sometimes wear the queue. A lad
on our premises who had worn the queue for years decided to have it
cut off, and when asked why he did so replied, “I hear the Siamese are
requiring every one wearing the queue to give in the Chinese language
the different parts of a pig; as I could not do that, I had my queue
cut off.” If the story is true, it was a happy thought of the Siamese.
The Chinese are the pork-raisers of Siam, and could easily meet the
test.
[Illustration: CHINESE BOAT-PEOPLE.]
Most of the villages on the gulf coast are inhabited by Chinese
fishermen. Those living near the mouth of the Menam Chowphya bring the
products of the sea to the Bangkok market at all seasons of the year,
whilst those on the opposite side must consult the winds and tides.
Everything, from a sea-slug to a porpoise, is caught and sold in the
market. As their fish-boats have to travel at least thirty miles, it
is necessary to make an early start, and in order to arrive here for
the morning market they most probably toil all night.
[Illustration: CHINESE CEMETERY.]
Most of the Chinese who die here are buried, but some are cremated.
The disposition of the body rests altogether with the wife and
children of the deceased. Very many, however, return to their native
land, after amassing a good pile of Mexican dollars, to lay their
bones in the ancestral burying-ground, where their spirits may be
worshiped in turn by their descendants.
Although the different provinces in China have their own peculiar
superstitions and customs, yet when they come here they assimilate to
a certain degree. Every three or four years some person turns up who
claims that the spirit of their god has entered into him, and he is
put through the crucial test of sitting on iron spikes and sharp
swords, having needles thrust into his cheeks and his tongue cut. That
one who can obtain an inscription written with the blood from the
tongue is considered highly favored. If he can endure all this torture
unflinchingly, his claim is considered genuine. They then prepare for
a grand procession by land or water. If on the river, the god is
seated on a throne in a gayly-decorated boat, accompanied by a long
line of boats with flags, banners and streamers flying and gongs
beating. The Chinese love dearly to “strike the loud cymbal.” These
occasions are to Young China what the Fourth of July is to Young
America, a time of fire-crackers and deafening noises. The more
grotesquely the occupants of the boats are dressed the more imposing
the ceremony.
The wealthy classes build very pleasant, comfortable brick houses. The
walls of the verandas are decorated with flowering plants and
shrubbery placed in fancy Chinese flower-pots. The indispensable
Chinese lantern is suspended from the roof of the veranda. In the
interior of the house you will find the shrine of the household god,
and over it is placed a number of fancy-colored and gilt papers
containing inscriptions, perhaps the daily petitions or prayers of the
household.
The Chinese are a religious people, every house having its altar. But
“their rock is not as our Rock, themselves being judges.” At sundown
they will burn gilt paper and incense-sticks to Joss, and turn in the
midst of their devotions and curse a European, calling him a “white
devil.” We have been accustomed from childhood to think of the “father
of lies” as a very black spirit, and it seems very strange to us to
have these dusky faces call him _white_.
The furniture of some of these houses is very handsome. The same
black, straight-backed settees and chairs seen everywhere in China are
here, some of them handsomely inlaid with ivory, mother-of-pearl and
fine porcelain.
[Illustration: PAPER PRAYERS.]
The Chinese are a polite people too. If you visit them in their homes,
and they have been accustomed to mingle with Europeans, they will
offer you their hand or will chin-chin, bowing very low and shaking
their own hands. You are invited to sit down, and a cup of excellent
tea in its purity is offered in the daintiest of cups. One is tempted
to covet some of those beautiful table-covers, screens or fans, all so
richly embroidered in bright-colored silks. Some of the fans are white
silk, with birds and flowers painted on them.
“But small the bliss that sense alone bestows,
And sensual bliss is all the nation knows;
In florid beauty groves and fields appear:
Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.”
[Illustration: PARLOR OF CHINESE HOUSE.]
In the cool of the evening the working classes gather in groups round
the doors of their houses, talking, laughing and smoking. One of the
number is perhaps entertaining the others with music on a little
instrument resembling a violin. But there is no music in it. If the
reader would like to reproduce the sound, let him try drawing the bow
over the violin-strings back and forth in a seesaw manner for an hour
or two at a time, and he will have a faint idea of the distracting
sounds drawn from the tortured instrument. There is not the slightest
approach to melody.
The scantily-clad coolie is not æsthetic, but as a nation the Chinese
are very much so. If they have the means they surround themselves with
beautiful things, such as silk, embroideries, paintings, carving in
ivory, lacquer-ware, mosaics, birds and flowers. Their ladies paint
their faces to look beautiful. But these stay in their native land; a
Chinese woman is rarely seen in Siam.
See that group of Chinamen who have been invited to a party given by
the foreign minister on the king’s birthday. They walk up and down
through the drawing-room and halls, so that we have a fine opportunity
for seeing them in full dress. Thin loose trousers of blue silk,
almost concealed by a robe of elegant silk richly embroidered, a cape
of the same covering the shoulders; Chinese slippers embroidered and
turned up at the toes; a hat (which they wear all the evening)
resembling a butter-bowl; and, to complete the grand toilette, they
flourish exquisite fans in silk and ivory. They make frequent visits
to the refreshment-room, and seem to enjoy the good things provided.
Many of those coming here from China cannot swim a stroke, and yet
they will venture out on the river in a little boat, perhaps a leaky
_sampan_, which they do not know how to manage, or they will crowd
into a larger boat until it is weighed down to the water’s edge,
scarcely leaving room to use the paddles. In this condition they will
attempt to cross the river when it is very rough and dangerous.
Perhaps they will reach the opposite shore safely, or, becoming
excited, they lose all presence of mind, and, screaming and shouting
at one another, completely demoralized, they are carried by the
swiftly-flowing current upon the anchor-chain of some vessel lying in
the river; the boat is upset and they are left struggling in deep
water. Some of them may succeed in getting hold of the chain or rope
and cling to it until rescued, whilst others are carried under the
ship by the strong current, and are never again seen alive. Like most
heathen, they are fatalists, and it would seem sometimes as if they
sought death, from their persistently reckless manner when danger
threatens them. They will run their little boats across the bow of
large boats, even steamers, and, as they are probably moving with the
current, a collision is almost inevitable. It is no unusual thing to
see the bodies of Chinamen floating up and down at the mercy of the
ebbing and flowing tides, until finally they reach the sea and
disappear for ever.
There is a superstition that if you rescue any one from drowning the
water-spirits will resent the interference and claim at some future
time the rescuer as a substitute; hence the stolidity and indifference
in Siam about rescuing the drowning. New missionaries are always
startled to see a boatload of people upset in the river, and shocked
that none of the people in the other boats attempt to offer any
assistance.
As gardeners the Chinese are very successful, and when we consider the
few rude implements they have to work with it is wonderful that they
succeed so well. Their spade is not much larger than a man’s hand,
with a short straight handle――no head to hold by nor rest for the
foot; consequently, all the force used in digging must come from the
shoulders and arms. The sickle is similar to that used in many parts
of Europe at the present day; the plough, drawn by oxen, does not
differ perhaps in any respect from the one the prophet Elisha left to
follow Elijah.
The Chinese do not cultivate the paddy-fields to any great extent, but
buy the rice from the producers and bring it to the Bangkok market.
The _seri_-leaf, which is used so extensively in Siam, is cultivated
in the betel-gardens. It is a vine trained on poles, and the leaf,
which is a bright green, tender and juicy, resembles the leaf of the
morning-glory vine, and is cultivated with great care. Decayed fish is
used as a fertilizer, and consequently the breezes which blow over
these gardens are not “spicy breezes,” but, on the contrary, very
offensive, obliging one in passing to suspend respiration for a time.
The leaves are picked when young and tied up in bundles, and carried
round for sale in little boats. This leaf, covered with a pink lime
paste and a little tobacco and betel-nut added, is rolled up
cross-wise and chewed. The consequence is, their teeth are black as
coal and the mouth is always full of red saliva, which runs out of the
mouth over the chin, and is almost as disgusting as the practice of
tobacco-chewing amongst Americans.
The Presbyterians have done no special work amongst the Chinese proper
in Siam. There are a number of elderly Chinamen in the mission
churches, but many of the male members are Siamo-Chinese. In the
mission boarding-school for boys more than half the number are sons of
Chinamen, and they are the brightest and most encouraging pupils. Many
of the missionaries hold the opinion that China proper is the
legitimate field in which to teach Christianity to the Chinese. It is
very difficult to get educated Chinese teachers in Siam.
The Rev. Wm. Dean, D.D., was the first missionary to the Chinese in
Siam. He was sent out by the Baptist Association, and arrived in
Bangkok July 18, 1835. This venerable father, now in his
seventy-seventh year, is still doing active service for the Master in
this part of his vineyard. He stood alone for many years, but recently
he has been reinforced by the arrival of the Rev. L. A. Eaton.
The Chinese all learn enough of the Siamese language to make
themselves understood, and they can get a saving knowledge of the
truth through the medium of the Siamese language if their hearts are
so inclined. Already both Siamese and Chinese in Siam are accepting
the gospel, so that we see the dawn of that glorious time promised
when “the heathen” will “be given as an inheritance, and the uttermost
parts of the earth for a possession” to Christ.
PART II.
VARIETIES OF SIAMESE LIFE.
CHAPTER VII.
_A SIAMESE WEDDING._
In a Siamese home, which stood in the midst of most beautiful
fruit-gardens, where the rosy-cheeked pomegranate nodded and played
hide-and-seek among its leaves with the purple mangosteen, and the
fragrant blossoms of the luscious mango pelted and showered themselves
down upon the thorny durian, and the tall cocoanut frowned loftily on
the graceful waving leaves of the banana,――in such a lovely spot,
amidst singing birds and fragrant flowers and most glorious sunshine,
about twenty years ago a little baby girl was born.
When the dear little stranger first opened her eyes she saw only gloom
and smoke. A Siamese infant is not carefully bathed by gentle hands,
and dressed in softest, purest linen, and laid in the clean white bed
beside the mother, who gathers it close in her arms and thanks God for
such a treasure. No; this new-born babe was first well rubbed with a
red and yellow powder, and strings with a silver coin attached were
tied around her wrists and ankles; then, being wrapped in some pieces
of their dirty, worn-out waist-cloths, she was put on a cotton pillow
under a round framework, something the shape of a bird-cage, covered
with dark muslin. Baby and cage were then set away in a corner of the
hot, close room, where the mother, as Siamese custom requires, was
lying on a bare board before four or five smoking firebrands, and, as
the house had no chimney, of course the room was filled with smoke.
The little brown baby was looked at occasionally, and brought to the
mother to be nursed, and she was bathed once or twice a day by having
tepid water poured over her with the hands, and whilst the skin was
still wet rubbed over with the turmeric powder and softened chalk. She
was also fed with the fingers, the food being boiled rice mixed with
mashed bananas.
What would you think to see a baby not a week old put into a
smoke-house and fed on rice and scraped apple? Well, as might be
expected, many of these little brown babies die. Nevertheless, this
little one lived through all, and as the days and months and years
went by grew up into a pretty little girl, and, being the youngest of
the children, was petted by all the family like many a winsome darling
in our own Christian land.
I do not know much about the earliest years of Leang, save that she
lived most of the day out of doors among the flowers and fruit trees;
and I think she must have had the birds for her companions, for her
merry laugh always reminded one of their carols. When I first met
Leang she was a bright child of six or seven summers, for the year in
Siam is one long bright summer. She had soft black eyes, and hair that
was black also, but all shaven off except one little place on the top
of her head, where it had been allowed to grow long, and was worn
twisted into a tight, smooth knot fastened by a long gold pin, the
head of which was as large as the end of your thumb and set full of
precious stones.
She was very friendly, and often visited at the house of one of our
missionaries who lived near her bamboo hut, and when Mrs. House
started a school for children on her veranda Leang was invited to join
them. Here she learned to sing, read, write and sew. In later years
she joined the church, and was often in our family and much loved for
her winning ways.
When Leang was about seventeen years old her parents thought it time
for the maiden to be married. In Siam when a man wants a wife he gets
two or three elderly persons who are friends of the maiden’s parents
to intercede for him and offer a certain sum of money for her, and
often, whether she is willing or not, the daughter is married to the
one who will pay the highest price.
Leang’s parents received an offer from a wealthy Chinaman who had
already two or more wives, but, attracted by her pretty face, wanted
this young girl――not because he loved her, but to add a new ornament
to his harem. He was a heathen, much older than herself, and the
girl’s heart had long been in the keeping of a young Siamese Christian
who had met her in the mission-house, where he also visited. Her
parents scolded, took away her ornaments, beat her and threatened
banishment from home, but Leang refused to marry the Chinaman. At
length, after a long period of trial and waiting, which perhaps only
strengthened their love, the young Siamese won the reluctant consent
of her parents to marry their daughter.
And now perhaps you think it is time to prepare for the wedding. No,
not yet. The Siamese have a superstition that persons born in certain
years are incompatible with each other. For instance, if one were born
in the “year of the Dog” and another in the “year of the Rat,” or one
in the “year of the Cow” and the other in the “year of the Tiger,”
they would not live happily together. The matter is accordingly
referred to some fortune-teller, who for a small fee generally
pronounces no difficulty is in the way. The matter of birthdays being
settled favorably, the elders make another call for a further
discussion of the preliminaries. They say, “Since birthdays do not
interfere, what shall be said about the usual stock for the young
couple to commence life upon, and the money for the building of a
house?” for, according to Siamese custom, the bridegroom puts up the
house on the premises of the bride’s parents, and as near the old home
as possible, so that it is almost one family. When a Siamese has
several daughters married and gathered thus around the old homestead,
there is quite a little family settlement. In reply to this inquiry of
the elders the girl’s parents will probably answer, “We are not rich
and not able to give our daughter much of a dowry. How is it with the
parents of the young man? What will they do for their son?” The elders
reply, “It depends upon yourselves.” The parents then suggest that a
certain sum be appropriated for the building of the house, and name
another sum for mutual trade; and it is agreed that they contribute
areca-nut, red lime, seri-leaf, cakes and so forth for the
wedding-feast. The plan of the new house and the number of the rooms
are also specified.
The elders then return and report to the parents of the young man, and
if they are satisfied a bargain is made and accepted by both parties.
All these matters being favorably settled in the case of our young
people, Leang’s parents hastened to consult the astrologers in
reference to a propitious day for the wedding, and the young man
engaged workmen to build the house, which did not take long nor cost
much.
During all these months the lovers seldom met. For the Siamese young
men and maidens there are no moonlight drives and walks, no pleasant
tête-à-têtes, no exchange of love’s sweetest tokens, during courtship.
They are carefully watched, and kept apart as much as possible. But by
some of the thousand ways in which love ever makes itself known they
knew that each was true to the other, and waited patiently. Meanwhile
the bamboo house grew in the hands of the workmen day by day, until
the sound of the saw and hammer was no longer heard, and the home was
pronounced finished and ready to be set in order for the young couple.
The wedding-day hastened on; the guests were all invited, and the
birds twittering among the trees seemed to sympathize with the maiden
who had lived among them from her earliest childhood, and to carol
joyously, “Come, haste to the wedding.”
The little house was festooned with the broad, graceful leaves of the
banana and adorned with the tall green stalks of the sugar-cane,
symbolical of peace and fruitfulness. Flowers and fruits were arranged
in fantastic designs on the walls, bright-colored cloth was gracefully
draped as curtains and screens; all things were ready and attractive
in the new home.
The ceremonies of a Siamese wedding consist largely of feasting. This
feast of fruits and cakes and sweetmeats is spread on mats upon the
grass among the trees and flowers, and the hosts await the arrival of
the guests.
By and by the sound of tabret and pipe and bands of music heralds the
coming of a sort of procession. As the Siamese always walk in single
file, one by one they came――the musicians with their oddly-shaped
instruments, old men and women, young men, maidens and children――all
gayly dressed in holiday attire, some bearing trays containing gifts
for the bride and her parents, and others with offerings of fruit,
cakes and confections to contribute to the already generously prepared
wedding-feast in the fruit-garden.
Out among her youthful friends, serving at the feast and bearing trays
here and there among the guests――who are seated in groups on the
grass, like the multitude fed by our Lord in Judea so long ago――flits
the pretty bride. Although her face is brown, the rosy blush is
plainly seen on her cheeks as she finds the eyes of her lover seeking
constantly her own.
The bridegroom sits apart from the women, among his young men
attendants, and has not been near enough to extend a tender pressure
of the hand, nor would he dare to offend the Siamese ideas of
propriety, for, although she is so nearly his own, a slight breach of
etiquette on his part might blast his hopes.
Conversation flows on, the sound of merry voices telling of happiness
and good-will. All have been served, and the feast is over. The money
has been brought forward and counted by reliable persons and found
correct. Both sums are then thrown together and sprinkled with rice,
scented oil and flowers, symbolic of blessings craved for the young
couple. It is then handed over to the parents of the bride for
safe-keeping.
The wedding-gifts have been formally presented and duly admired.
Siamese wedding-gifts are few and simple. Many of the utensils in use
among them are quite primitive in style――unglazed earthen pots for
cooking purposes; brazen vessels, trays, cups and spoons or small
ladles; heavy wooden buckets and baskets daubed within and without
with pitch, used for carrying water; common porcelain bowls for
holding their rice and vegetables at meals,――no knives, no forks, no
spoons, such as young housekeepers need with us. As they have little
that is ornamental in an ordinary home, the wedding-gifts are always
useful articles.
[Illustration: MISSION HOUSE.]
The afternoon is now far spent and the hum of many voices is somewhat
subdued. The band strikes up a sort of wedding-march. The groom,
attired in plum-colored silk p’anoong and a neatly-fitting white
muslin jacket, rises, and, leaving the group, attended by his young
friends, dressed in the same style, bare-legged and bare-headed, walks
toward the neighboring house of the American missionary. At a
respectful distance follow some of the matrons, aged women and
maidens. Amid them, like a gay butterfly, dressed in a red and yellow
silk waist-cloth, a brilliant green silk, tight-fitting jacket and a
fire-colored silk scarf thrown gracefully over her shoulders, walks
the young bride――no shoes or stockings, no hat nor veil to hide her
pretty blushes. The guests all go up through the veranda into the
house, where they are welcomed by the missionary. Chairs are offered,
but many prefer to crouch on the floor, as they have never been
elevated above it in all their lives. The Christian marriage that
follows is a novel episode to many present. At a Siamese wedding the
Buddhist priests come to the house and chant prayers for the benefit
of the young couple. The parents of the bride and bridegroom and all
the guests vie with each other in their attention to these priests,
who receive gifts also. The young couple are copiously bathed with
holy water, poured by the elders first on the head of the bridegroom,
then on the head of the bride, pronouncing a blessing upon each. This
of course necessitates a change of wet apparel for dry, usually more
gay than the former, the fresh suit for the bridegroom being
frequently presented him on a salver by a lad sent from the parents of
the bride.
But to return to our young couple. After repeating with clasped hands
their vows to love, cherish, honor and live with one another until
death, the missionary pronounces the blessing and congratulations are
offered by their friends. The parties then separate, and in like
manner as they came to the house so they go back to their guests in
the garden.
The feasting continues if this is a propitious day, closing in the
evening. Oftentimes, however, the ceremonies are kept up until the
third and fourth day. Soft eyes look love to eyes which dare not speak
again, for the Siamese dames and grandames are lynx-eyed and the
maidens are shy; yet Cupid will not be outwitted, and his darts fly
thick and fast at such a feast. Still, the bridegroom must content
himself with an occasional glance as Leang flits in and out among her
guests. When the twilight has waned and the full clear moon transforms
everything into silvery beauty, preparations are made for the
torchlight procession to conduct the bridegroom and bride to the new
home. You remember the parable of the Ten Virgins in the New
Testament: “At midnight there was a cry made, Behold the bridegroom
cometh!” After somewhat the same manner is this procession formed. The
torches used are made of pitch rolled into small sticks about two feet
long and wrapped round with the dried attap-leaf.
The groom’s attendants escort him with lighted torches to his new
home, and at the same time a lad is despatched by the bride bearing a
tray of the areca-nut, with all its concomitants, ready for chewing,
tobacco, seri-leaf, red lime and soft wax for the lips. The happy man
meets them at the door, and, placing the tray before them, invites
them to partake.
After an interval two or three matrons, with Leang’s maiden
attendants, light their torches, and the little bride, shy and
trembling, but with her heart full of her happiness, is in her turn
escorted to the little home, where the youthful husband, engaged in
merry conversation with his friends, is impatiently awaiting her
arrival.
All sit down in the veranda, the maidens apart from the men. The tray
with the betel-nut is passed to them, and they all partake freely.
Then, after more friendly chatting and some suitable exhortations from
the matrons and the congratulations from all, the guests depart. Our
youthful friends are left to themselves, and another Christian home
adds its rays to the light which we hope will ere long cover Siam.
Many Siamese men have several wives at a time, but they do not marry
all in the same way. They pay a sum of money for each, but often all
ceremony is laid aside after the first marriage, save paying the
money. They build a little house for each, or assign her a small suite
of rooms in the mansion, if men of wealth and position. Polygamy is
not so common among the lower as among the higher classes, because of
inability to support more than one wife at a time; but a wife can be
put away or left at will. Notwithstanding these evils, I have known
many homes among the Siamese where the “heart of the husband safely
trusted in the wife,” and she, with loving confidence in him, “looked
well to the ways of her household.”
CHAPTER VIII.
_HOUSEKEEPING IN SIAM._
All ordinary Siamese houses must have three rooms. Indeed, so
important is this considered that the suitor must often promise to
furnish the requisite number before the parents will consent to let
him claim his bride.
There is the bedroom, where the family all huddle together at night;
an outer room, where they sit through the day and where they receive
visitors; and the kitchen.
I will begin at the latter and try to describe the dirty, dingy place.
The Siamese have no godliness, and the next thing to it, cleanliness,
is entirely lacking. So please step carefully or you may soil your
clothes against a black rice-pot or come in contact with drying fish.
There is usually a rude box filled with earth where they build the
fire and do what they call the cooking; that is, they boil rice and
make curry and roast fish and plantains over the coals. All in the
household are taught to do these simple things, and the father and the
brothers, if they are at home, in poor families, where the women work
for the living, are just as apt to get them ready as the women.
There is no making of bread or pie or cake or pudding――no roast, no
gravies, no soups. Even vegetables are seldom cooked at home, but are
prepared by others and sold in the markets or peddled about the
streets. There they buy boiled sweet potatoes and green corn, and
stewed fruits and curries, and roasted fish, and nuts and peanuts and
bananas, sliced pineapple, melon and squash; and pickled onions and
turnips are sold through the streets of Bangkok and Petchaburee just
as pickled beets are in Damascus.
Curry is made of all sorts of things, but is usually a combination of
meat or fish and vegetables. If you want an English name for it that
all can understand you must call it a _stew_. The ingredients are
chopped very fine or pounded in a mortar, especially the red peppers,
onions and spices. The predominant flavor is red pepper, so hot and
fiery that your mouth will smart and burn for half an hour after you
have eaten it. Still, many of the curries are very nice, and with
boiled rice furnish a good meal. But sometimes “broth of abominable
things is in their vessels,” as, for instance, when they make curry of
rats or bats or of the meat of animals that have died of disease; and
they flavor it with _kapick_, a sort of rotten fish of which all
Siamese are inordinately fond. Its chief peculiarity is that it
“smells to heaven” and is unrivaled in the strength of its flavor.
Siam is unique in that she produces two of the most abominable, and
yet the most delicious, things, if we believe what we hear. These are,
first, the durian, a large fruit found only on this peninsula; and,
second, kapick, which I hope is not found anywhere outside of Siam.
But to return to the kitchen: it has no chimney, and the smoke finds
its way out as best it can, so that nearly everything is black and
sooty. There is but little furniture except the fireplace, the
rice-pots, a kettle and perhaps a frying-pan, and baskets of various
shapes and sizes, one pair being daubed within and without with pitch
and used to carry water. There is a little stool, a foot square and
six inches high, that they call a table, and on which they place the
curry and fish and sliced vegetables, while those who eat squat like
toads about it, each having on the floor before him a bowl of rice,
which is replenished from a larger dish near by or directly from the
rice-pot in the fireplace.
There is no regularity about their meals, and they do not wait for one
another, but eat whenever they get hungry. In the higher families the
men always eat first and by themselves, and the wives and children and
dogs take what is left.
The usual rule is for each one to wash his own rice-bowl and turn it
upside down in a basket in the corner of the room, there to drip and
dry till the next time it is needed.
They eat with their fingers, very few having even so much as a spoon,
and they do not use the wafer-like bread so common in the Levant,
which the Syrians double into a kind of three-cornered spoon, and,
dipping up some _kibby_, or camel-stew, or rice, eat down spoon and
all.
The kitchen floors are nearly all made of split bamboo, with great
cracks between, through which they pour all the slops and push the
scraps and bones, so that sweeping is unnecessary. Near the door are
several large earthen jars for water, which are filled from the river
by the women or servants. Here they wash their feet before they enter
the house, and their hands and mouths before and after they eat,
dipping the water with a gourd or cocoanut-shell. They use brass
basins and trays a great deal, but for lack of scouring they are
discolored and green with verdigris; and I cannot help thinking that
the use of such vessels is one of the fruitful sources of the fearful
sores and eruptions with which the whole nation is afflicted.
[Illustration: SIAMESE LADIES DINING.]
There are no washing- or ironing-days. Many wear no upper garment,
only a waist-cloth, which they keep on when they go to bathe, and when
they come up out of the water they change it for a dry one. It is then
rubbed a little in the water, wrung out and spread in the sun to dry.
If it is not stolen, they fold it up when it is dry and pat it with
their hands, and that is all the ironing they do.
The outer room of the house is barren enough, with perhaps a mat or
ox-hide for guests to sit upon, and a tray from which all are served
with betel and tobacco. It is considered a great insult not to offer
betel to your guests, and a greater one still, I believe, to refuse it
when offered. They think the red lips and black teeth it produces are
very beautiful. They have a saying, “Any dog can have white teeth,”
inferring that only human beings know how to blacken theirs.
The bedroom is where things accumulate――old baskets and bags, rags,
bundles and boxes. You seldom see idols in a Siamese house, but I have
seen them sometimes in the bedroom, especially if any one is sick.
There are no bedsteads, no tables, chairs, bureau, washstand, or
indeed any of those things which we consider necessary. A torn straw
mat or two, or perhaps an ox-hide on the floor, with a brick-shaped
pillow stuffed with cotton or a brick itself or block of wood for a
pillow, constitute the ordinary Siamese bed.
In families not the very poorest you will find long narrow mattresses
stuffed with tree-cotton. They may be covered with an old ragged
waist-cloth instead of a sheet, and over them is suspended a mosquito
curtain of dark-blue cloth or one of unbleached cotton. I have known
these curtains to hang for years without ever being changed or washed.
The beds and mats are filthy and swarming with bugs, which also infest
the curtains, the coverings, the cracks in the floor and the wall, the
boxes, and indeed all the rubbish in the room. I have seen them
creeping over the people, and no one seems to mind them or think of
being ashamed.
These rooms are never cleared out or swept or scrubbed. The cobwebs of
succeeding years tangle and entangle themselves in the corners, drape
the rafters and the windows, and indeed every place where the busy
spinners can do their work. There is seldom more than one window in a
bedroom, and at night it is carefully closed, and if it were not for
the cracks in the floor and walls the miserable inmates would surely
smother. They do not bring their cattle _into_ the house, for it is
very frail and set upon poles about six feet from the ground, but they
do keep them _under_ the house, so that they can hear if thieves come
to steal them.
They never give any dinner- or tea-parties or visit each other, as we
do at home. There is an occasional feast, as at a wedding, a funeral
or a hair-cutting, and sometimes neighbor girls will sit together
under the trees to sew, or by the same lamp at night to economize oil
and to chat and gossip. A great place for the latter pastime is at the
temples when they go to hear the Buddhist services, which are usually
in Bali, and therefore not understood, or by the river-banks and wells
when they go to fetch water.
Thus you see that housekeeping among the Siamese is very simple and
primitive. There are no women who have worn out their lives in making
and mending, baking and scrubbing, and fussing over a cook-stove. They
do not dread the spring house-cleaning or the fall setting up of
stoves and putting down of carpets. There is no Thanksgiving dinner to
cook, nor Christmas holiday feasting, and no Fourth of July picnic; no
preserving or pickling, no canning of fruits nor packing of butter nor
pressing of cheese.
But, alas! there is no happy home-life either――no family altar, no
pleasant social board where father, mother, sisters and brothers meet
three times a day, and, thanking God for food, eat with joy and
gladness and grow strong for his service; no sitting-room, where some
of the happiest years of our lives are spent in loving companionship
with those of our own household, no place for books, and no books to
read, except perhaps a few vile tales or books of superstition and
witchery.
May God pity Siam and plant in her kingdom many happy Christian homes!
May her people be purified and cleansed, and taught of him in all
things! Then, and not till then, will the good influences, working
from the heart outward, touch and cleanse and beautify all their
surroundings.
NOTE.――The reader will doubtless notice that my description
is of Siamese life among the lower classes, not among those
who have come in contact with missionaries and been improved
somewhat, nor those of the higher classes in Bangkok――the
princes and nobles, whose old-time home-life was neater and
more orderly than that here described. These, through the
influence of foreigners coming to Siam and visits to foreign
lands, have raised themselves in the scale of living, and
have foreign houses filled with foreign furniture and
conveniences, order sumptuous meals from foreign bakeries,
and have them placed upon their tables and served in modern
style. I do not consider that true _Siamese_ housekeeping.
CHAPTER IX.
_CHILD-LIFE IN SIAM._
When the Siamese young folks get up in the morning they do not go to
the washstand to wash their faces, for the simple reason that Siamese
houses can boast no such article of furniture. The cooking utensils
and the mats which serve for beds, with the pillows of gayly-painted
bamboo or of tightly-stuffed cotton, make up the entire furnishing of
a Siamese home. The houses of the poor people are simple bamboo huts
of one or two rooms, while their richer neighbors have teak-wood
houses, with an extra room perhaps; but all are alike simple in their
furniture.
Our little Siamese friend just runs down to the foot of the
ladder――for the house is built on posts――to a large jar of water with
a cocoanut-shell dipper. There she washes her face――not in the dipper,
but by throwing the water over her hands and rubbing them over her
face. She needs no towel, for the water is left to dry. She does not
brush her teeth, for they are stained black by chewing the betel-nut
and seri-leaf. Her hair does not require combing either, for it is all
shaved except a little tuft on the top of the head, and that is tied
in a little knot and not often combed; and after a girl is twelve
years old it is shaved and kept very short.
After breakfast is over――and a very simple meal it is in Siam――the
children go off and find some pleasant place in which to play. The
baby goes with them, and is carried by the older sister on her right
hip, and, with her arm to support the child’s back, she walks along as
if she had no load to carry.
The girls play at keeping house, and make dishes of clay dried in the
sun, and from seeds, grasses and weeds they make all sorts of
imaginary delicacies. Little images of clay washed with lime are their
only dolls; these are sometimes laid in tiny cradles and covered with
a few pieces of cloth. The Siamese cradles are made on oblong wooden
frames, something like a picture-frame, from which hangs a network bag
made of cord, which forms the cradle, and a board is put in the bottom
to keep the netted cord in shape. The large cradle of the same sort in
which the live baby sleeps is fastened by ropes to the rafters of the
house, and forms a cooler and safer cradle than those in which
American babies rest. If any one will make a little frame and net some
cord for the basket part, she can have a real Siamese cradle.
The boys in Siam are very fond of pitching coins, and spend much of
their time in this game. They play leap-frog, and very often jump the
rope. Now that so many foreigners come to this country they have
learned to play marbles too. Foot-ball is also a very popular game,
but instead of a ball they use a little square piece of thick leather
with feathers fastened into one side. The men, as well as the boys,
enjoy this game, and it is really the most active exercise the Siamese
ever take. Fishing is a favorite pastime; and as crabs and prawns are
not always in season, they are a greater luxury than fish, and it is
considered great fun to catch them. The time for this is when the tide
in the river is very low and great mud-banks are left on either side.
The little fishermen carry with them a coarse sieve and an earthen
jar. The sieve is pushed along under the surface of the mud, and the
crabs, when caught, are put into the jars, which the children drag
along after them. After they have caught enough crabs they pelt each
other with mud, just as American boys do with snowballs. When they are
tired and dirty enough they plunge into the water, have a good swim,
and come out of the water as clean and happy as boys can be. In the
month of March, though usually dry and hot, winds are blowing. At this
time the Siamese, young and old, are much engaged in playing games
with kites, which are fitted with whistles, and the air resounds with
the noise produced by the toys and the shouts of the multitudes of
people engaged in the sport. Very frequently, too, mimic battles are
fought in the air by means of these kites, skillfully directed by
strings held in the hands of the owners.
Siamese children do not have many pets, and those that they do have
are used for fighting. Just at sunset the boys will often be seen
searching very earnestly for crickets. These little creatures are put
into small clay cages, closed at the top by bars of little sticks
which let in the light and air. Then the boys gather some evening, put
all their crickets into a large box, and watch them fight, as they are
sure to do when put together. Small fish, called needle-fish from
their long sharp mouths, are also used for this cruel purpose. Two
fish are put into separate bottles placed close to each other. The
moment they catch sight of each other they begin snapping, but of
course can never reach each other. Sometimes a looking-glass is held
before one, and it is amusing as well as painful to see how angry it
will become. This passion for mimic fights grows in the boys, and when
they become men they spend most of their time at cockpits, where
nearly all their gambling is done. In spite of all this, animals are
well cared for by most persons, for they “make merit” in this way.
They also believe that at some future time a fish, a monkey, a dog, a
cat, or it may be a snake, a bird or a pig, will be the possible home
of their own soul.
The Siamese are fond of flowers, and use them for personal adornment.
The children wear wreaths of tiny white flowers on their topknots, and
very often men and women put flowers behind their ears and fasten them
in their hair. Children are often named for flowers and different
colors. The name that almost all babies bear for the first few years
of their life is “_Dang_,” which means red. When they get a little
older they have another name given them, though sometimes this first
name clings to them all their lives. When a stranger meets a young
girl and wishes to speak to her she calls her “_Rat_,” for this is the
most polite way of addressing young ladies whose name one does not
know.
[Illustration: A YOUNG SIAMESE PRINCE.]
There are no story-books printed for the children of Siam. Their
stories are told to them, and are so uninteresting that American
children would wonder how any one could listen to them; but they have
never heard better ones, and the sweetest story of all, that of Jesus
and his love, has never been heard by millions there. Some of the
missionaries have translated into Siamese a number of story-books
which are familiar to American children. A number of the familiar
Sabbath-school hymns have also been translated, and are used in the
Sabbath-school and church services.
The Siamese know nothing of music. Their songs are a monotonous chant.
They have but few musical instruments, and it does not take many to
make a full band. These bands play at weddings, funerals and other
grand affairs, but they do not vary their programme in the least,
playing the same tune on any of these occasions.
The Siamese children are not taught to keep Sunday, for there is no
Sabbath in that heathen land; and even their occasional holy days are
mere gala-days, when, dressed in their best and gayest garments, they
go to the temples with their mothers to make offerings to the image of
their dead god Buddha. From the temples they are often taken to some
theatrical show to spend the remainder of the day. During the national
holiday season these theatrical performances are going on all the
time, besides Chinese street-shows very much like our Punch and Judy;
and fathers, mothers and children all gamble.
As the streets in Siam are almost all rivers and canals, the Siamese
boys and girls early learn to row, and paddle their little boats
almost as soon as they learn to swim, which they do when they are only
four or five years old. Their canoes are sometimes so small that it is
a puzzle to know how they can manage them so safely.
[Illustration: A CHINESE STREET SHOW.]
We have seen that in their plays the Siamese and American children
have much in common, but in their home-life it is different. Siamese
parents love their children as truly, if not as wisely, as American
fathers and mothers love theirs. Generally the children are allowed to
do just as they please until the parents become angry; then they are
sometimes very cruelly punished. The hand of a little one is sometimes
bent back until the child writhes in agony. They are whipped very
severely too, although it must be confessed that the children
sometimes scream and cry very loudly before they are hurt. But these
punishments are not often administered for what we would consider
sinful. The parents lie, swear and gamble, so that they cannot well
punish their children for following their example. They often curse
their children for a very little thing, and so the children learn to
curse each other. But there is one thing that the Siamese children
could teach young folks in America――reverence for their parents and
for old age and respect for those in authority over them.
CHAPTER X.
_FIRST HAIR-CUTTING OF A YOUNG SIAMESE._
The attention of the traveler as he passes in his boat along the
rivers and canals of Siam, in town or country, is often arrested by
the sound of music proceeding from beneath an extemporized awning in
front of some dwelling by the wayside. There a promiscuous crowd have
gathered and are witnessing a theatrical performance, the actors and
actresses with chalked faces or hideous masks and in glittering and
fantastic attire. The centre of attraction, however, is manifestly a
pretty child of a dozen summers or so, richly attired and fairly
overlaid with jewelry――necklaces, gold chains, armlets, bracelets and
anklets.
A hair-cutting festival is in progress――a _kone-chook_, as it is
called, the ceremonies and the gayeties that attend the first clipping
of the cherished topknot on the child’s head. This is the great
occasion in the life of the child, and indeed second only to that of a
wedding or a funeral in the life of the family. The Siamese in shaving
the heads of their children, as they do from their earliest infancy,
always leave a small circular lock of hair on the top of the head to
be untouched by razor or shears till the child is eleven, thirteen, or
fifteen years old. Were it to be cut at an earlier day or without the
customary ceremonies, the parents would fear their child would become
insane or a prey to a kind of demon they call a _yak_. This lock grows
a foot or so long, and is kept oiled and neatly twisted into a knot.
Through this a gilt or golden large-headed hairpin three inches long
is thrust, and not unfrequently a garland of fragrant white flowers is
worn around it, giving young Siamese children quite a pretty
appearance.
[Illustration: REMOVAL OF THE TUFT OF A YOUNG SIAMESE.]
When the right year has arrived and the lucky day for the hair-cutting
has been fixed by the astrologers, the friends of the family are
invited, and a band of play-actors engaged and a company of Buddhist
priests, and for a day or two there is a constant round of
prayer-chanting, play-acting and feasting of priests and friends. The
ceremonies begin with the priests chanting in chorus their prayers,
seated cross-legged on mats on an elevated platform, a thread of white
cotton yarn passing from their hands around the clasped hands of the
kneeling child and back to them again, serving as a sort of electric
conductor to the child of the benefits their prayers evoke. The next
morning, when the auspicious moment arrives, the man of highest rank
among the guests with shears clips off the long-cherished lock, and
the head is close shaved for the first time; and then the child,
dressed in white, is led to an elevated seat under a canopy of white
cloth and consecrated water is poured freely over it, first by the
parents, then by kindred and friends. Its drenched garments are now
replaced by gay attire, and a curious ceremony called _weean teean_ is
next gone through with. Candles are lighted, and while the music is
playing loudly are carried five times round the child, who is seated
on a kind of throne between two circular five-storied flowerstand-like
altars, called _bai-sees_, containing cooked rice, fruit and flowers,
offerings to the spirits of the air. The candles are then blown out in
such a way that the smoke shall be borne toward the child. This is
supposed to stock the boy or girl with spirit and courage for the
duties of life.
The relatives and friends of the family now are expected to make a
present in money to the child, each according to his ability or
station, the sums varying from one to eighty pieces of silver (60
cents to $48), so that the newly-shorn youngster will on these
occasions receive enough to give him quite a start in the world or if
a maiden sufficient for a dowry.
And now a general feasting ensues, the yellow-clad priests being first
served, and for a day or two more the music and theatrical
performances continue. After this the children are reckoned as young
men and young women. The _kone-chook_ is in fact their “coming-out”
festival.
Those whose poverty will not allow the expense of such an affair take
their child when it arrives at the proper age to a Buddhist temple,
and have a priest shave off the tuft with some simple religious
ceremony.
If so much is made of this observance in the case of ordinary
children, the celebration of the first hair-cutting of a young prince
or princess, as may well be imagined, is a very grand affair. It is
then styled a _sokan_. Preparations for it commence months beforehand;
the governors of provinces far and near are summoned to be present;
the highest priests in the kingdom are invited; and public
festivities, with free theatres, shadow-plays, rope-dancing, etc., to
amuse the immense crowds of people present, are kept up for many days.
If the child prince or princess is of the very highest rank, part of
the ceremony takes place on an artificial mountain constructed in the
court of the palace of strong timberwork and boards, covered so
entirely with sheets of pewter gilded that it appears like a beautiful
mountain of gold. The one erected a few years ago for the _sokan_ of
the eldest daughter of the reigning king――she being also a great
grand-daughter of the ex-regent――the princess Sri Wililaxan, was sixty
feet high (higher than a four-story building), and had cliffs here and
grottoes there, and lakes and waterfalls, and trees with artificial
monkeys and birds and serpents, which by concealed machinery were made
to move among them as if alive, and winding paths that led to the top,
where an elegant gilt pavilion gleamed in the sun.
The ceremonies on this occasion commenced with the chanting of prayers
in the hall of state at the palace by twenty-four head priests of the
chief temples of the city, and the lighting of “the candle of
victory,” a huge wax candle six feet high, which burned day and night
till the moment the hair was cut. The next morning these same priests
were sumptuously feasted at the palace, and dismissed with presents of
priests’ robes, cushions, fans, etc., and another company took their
place.
In the afternoon was the first of the grand processions to escort the
young princess to the great hall of state where the religious services
were held. In the open square in front of this hall seats were
provided for six or seven hundred of the nobility to witness the
procession, themselves a most brilliant sight in their coats of gold
brocade, many sparkling with diamonds. As soon as the king arrived and
seated himself in the high pavilion prepared for him a troop of
beautiful girls in glittering dresses descended from the golden
mountain――from the gilded temple there――and at the base of the
mountain, in full view of His Majesty, danced the flower-dance to the
sound of native music, waving branches of gold and silver flowers.
Heralded by music, the imposing procession now came on. First there
were masked men representing Japanese warriors; then Siamese soldiers
in European uniform, with bands of music; then two noblemen,
representing celestial messengers, archangels, dressed in all white
with gold embroidery, and having crowns on their heads terminating in
a long, slender, white spire full eighteen inches high. These led on a
hundred more angels with like high-pointed spires on their heads; then
came Indian musicians and yet more angels, and then companies of men
and boys of all nationalities that were to serve the princess, each in
their national costume――first, a troop of Chinese in blue, then of
Malays with white turbans, then Anamese, Peguans, Laos, Karens.
And now a pretty sight――more than a hundred children of noblemen
dressed in white, with little gold coronets on their topknots and
loaded with jewelry, all kept in their places by holding on to a rope
drawn tight by strong men before and behind. Trumpeters and drummers
in scarlet came next, and Brahmans in white and gold scattering
flowers and sprinkling holy water. Men now came on carrying the
peculiar standards of royalty: eight had each a sort of many-storied
umbrella of gold cloth, the staff fifteen feet high; others carried
huge golden curiously-carved fans with long handles, others spears,
and one the sword of state. Two pretty damsels, robed and crowned as
queens, with bunches of peacock feathers in their hands, followed, and
then came the little princess herself, in white robes and wearing a
small diadem, seated on a golden throne borne aloft on the shoulders
of pages in purple. By her side walked six of the great nobles of the
kingdom as archangels, with high white steeple-like crowns, and twelve
maids of honor in rich dresses followed, bearing her gold tray of
betel, her spittoon, fan and other articles of use; then there were
more of the storied umbrellas and huge fans and spear-bearers. Next in
the procession walked with lady-like and graceful carriage fifty or
more of the king’s wives in ranks of four, all wearing robes of snowy
silk reaching to their feet, with scarfs of silver hue, and eight or
nine massive gold chains passing over one shoulder and across the
breast, as did the scarfs, the other shoulder and arm being left bare.
After these came various officials of the harem, and last the female
police of the palace.
Following the women of the palace were representatives of women of all
the nations living in Siam and near it――Chinese, Japanese, Hindoo,
Burmese, Laos, Cochin-Chinese, etc.――each in their national dress, the
last in long blue silk coats with orange trousers. These were
succeeded by the Siamese servants of the princess――hundreds of lively
girls in bright scarfs; after them two white ponies were led by
grooms. Then came the men-servants, many hundreds, in white jackets,
and a regiment of Siamese soldiers formed the rear-guard.
When the princess reached the pavilion where His Majesty sat, her
bearers stopped, and she made homage to her royal father by raising
her joined hands above her head. He, rising to receive her, lifted her
to his side, and together they passed in to where a relay of priests
were chanting prayers. After an hour or so, the princess, coming out,
was escorted back to the gate of the inner palace, all going in the
same order as that in which they came. These processions were repeated
every afternoon for three days.
On the fourth and great day the ceremonies commenced in the morning
soon after daybreak, for so the Brahman astrologers had directed. The
princess, borne in procession as usual, was taken to the great hall of
the palace, and there, precisely at the lucky moment, the lock of hair
about which all this ado was made was solemnly cut with scissors by
the highest of the princes. Her head was then close shaved with gold,
silver and steel razors. The candle of victory was now extinguished.
Still clad in white, our little princess was next carried in
procession to the foot of the golden mountain and seated on a marble
bench in a pool representing the holy lake Anodad. Here the king took
five jars――of gold, silver, brass, bronze and stone――and poured holy
water over her. She shivered, and almost cried. But the great princes
and princesses, and after them the chief of nobles, came up, and each
in turn poured water over the poor child with trying deliberation for
nearly half an hour. At last she was permitted to retire to a
curtained pavilion near and exchange her drenched robes of white for
the rich apparel of royalty. The prime minister and the minister of
foreign affairs, gorgeously clad as angels, escorted her now up the
golden mountain. At the summit an aged uncle of the king and her royal
father himself received her. In the pretty temple there she was
invested with a crown of solid gold, and then descended in full royal
state covered with jewels, and was carried in procession thrice round
the mountain, her right hand toward it.
But, lo! a marvelous transformation in the appearance of the
procession had now taken place. The angels that had been clad in white
now assumed pink or rose tints; the ladies of the palace had
golden-colored scarfs instead of silver, and the pretty children that
came in white were now seen clothed in pink, with bright red bands
around their topknots and coronets, all indicative of the joyous
change the clipping of that lock of hair had brought to the royal
child.
The morning’s ceremony lasted in all about three hours, and then the
princess was borne away to needful rest for a season.
In the afternoon another ceremony was performed――the “weean teean,” or
encircling with candles, of which mention has been made before. Borne
to the hall of state in procession, the princess, in rich costume, was
seated on a central throne, between two _bai-sees_, which in this case
were five-storied piles of round golden trays successively diminishing
in size toward the top, looking like circular flower-stands, each
containing cooked rice-cakes, scented oil and flour, young cocoanuts
and bananas――all surmounted by a bouquet of flowers. Near her sat her
royal father. All around the hall were the princes and nobles and
ladies of rank seated in a circle. Two chiefs of the Brahmans standing
near the _bai-sees_ lighted in succession fifteen large wax candles
set in gold, silver and crystal candlesticks, and handed them one by
one to the highest in rank present, who with a wave of his hand guided
the flame toward the princess and passed the candle on to the next,
who did the same. At the same time others of the Brahmans were beating
their peculiar drums with a wild burst of music, and hymns were
chanted while each of the fifteen candles made the circuit of the hall
five times, and then were handed back to the Brahman, who suddenly
extinguished them, blowing the smoke toward the princess, thus wafting
to her, as it were, the invigorating influence of beneficent spirits,
of which they say the air is full. With the same object the Brahman
gave the child some of the rice with the milk of the young cocoanut,
and, dipping his finger in the sacred oil and scented flour, anointed
the right foot in three places. The king then poured holy water over
his daughter’s hands, which she passed over her head, and the
ceremonies for the day were over. For three days this weean-teean rite
was performed, and the processions escorting the princess back and
forth went on, and then the sokan festival was ended.
During these last three days congratulatory presents in silver coin
were most liberally made to the little princess by all of any rank in
the kingdom. The amount received on this occasion was not less, it is
said, than fifty thousand dollars――enough certainly to keep a Siamese
princess in pin-money for life.
One cannot help remarking, How costly all these vain heathen
superstitions! And all this pomp and parade and immense expense and
these wearisome ceremonies, cheerfully undertaken to avert from the
king’s daughter imaginary evils, from which, if they existed, God only
could protect, and to induce prosperity which God only could give! Sad
indeed it is to reflect how completely, in this and in all the customs
of this people, all reference to or thought of the Lord and Maker of
us all, on whom all creatures are dependent for every blessing, and
whose favor is life and true happiness, has been shut out.
Let us, “whose souls are lighted by wisdom from on high,” pray
earnestly for these boys and girls in Siam, who now trust in these
foolish rites and offerings to spirits that do not exist, that as they
enter upon manhood and womanhood the blessing of the almighty One may
rest upon them, so that they, more favored than those before them, may
learn and believe and rejoice in the truth as it is in Christ the
Lord.
CHAPTER XI.
_THE SCHOOLS OF SIAM._
In Siam schools are made up of boys and girls, just as they are in
other countries. But the boys and girls of Siam are not made of “sugar
and spice and all that’s nice,” but of fish and fowl, of curry and
rice, of onions and garlic, and everything nice. And they seem to be
very good materials to make children of, too, for they are usually
very bright and clever.
They commit to memory more readily than the average American
school-boy, but in studies requiring a process of reasoning or
long-continued hard work they would probably fall behind. They usually
begin a new study or work with great avidity, but often tire before it
is half finished. The average Siamese boy of nine or ten years of age
does not ask more than a day to learn all the large and small letters
of the English alphabet, and a tiptop student will only want half a
day. In a year afterward he will be able to read fluently in _Wilson’s
Third Reader_, and translate it all into his own language, and will
also be able to write nicely and know something of arithmetic.
A teacher of a Siamese school need have little trouble with its
government if it were not so impossible ever to be sure of the truth.
When a boy gets into mischief he always plans to lie about it; and he
can do it with such an air of candor that he will make the teacher
almost disbelieve his own senses. But this fault is doubtless largely
owing to the early training in heathen homes and in the old-fashioned
“wat-schools” of the country.
The prevailing religion and the education of a country usually stand
side by side, and aid each other. Their united influence is sometimes
to spread sunshine and prosperity over the land, and sometimes to
fasten the chains of superstition and blight the moral feelings of the
entire nation.
Siam is no exception to the general rule. For centuries the Buddhist
temples have been the only “temples of learning,” and the men who
shave their heads, dress in yellow robes and beg their food have
performed the double office of pedagogue and priest. It would seem as
if Siam ought to be a highly-educated country when these mendicant
teachers form one-thirtieth part of the entire population, and when
the custom of the country is such that parents usually require their
sons to spend all the years of boyhood and youth under the care of
these teachers in the temples. So universal is this custom that work
for boys is something that has not yet been invented in this country.
As soon as a little boy is out of his babyhood his parents at once
begin to look around for a desirable teacher for him. A priest is
selected: usually he is a friend or relative of the parents, and one
whom they think they can trust to care for and educate their boy. The
child is then taken to the temple, or _wat_, as it is called, and
given to the priest. In doing this the parent gives up all claim,
authority and oversight of the boy to the priest, often closing a long
speech on the subject by begging the priest to “whip him a great deal;
do not break his back or put out his eyes; anything less than that you
can do: I won’t say a word.”
While the child is in the wat the parent is expected to clothe him and
also to contribute liberally to the _lunch-basket_ that this man of
holy orders carries around daily to have filled by pious Buddhists.
The child’s most important duty now is to wait on his teacher, follow
him on his morning tramps, paddle his boat, serve his food and be
ready at all times to obey his wishes.
The priest, on his part, is expected to teach the boy to read and
write; and if he is a very extraordinary “man of letters” he may
possibly teach the first principles of arithmetic; this, however, is a
rare accomplishment, gained only by the favored few.
But whatever else these Buddhist schoolmasters fail in teaching, there
is one lesson that they succeed in imparting better than most college
professors of other countries, and that is a feeling of respect on the
part of their pupils for their teachers, no matter how indifferently
the work may have been done. No matter if ten years have been spent in
doing what should have been done in as many months, still, any Siamese
man would be branded as a wretched ingrate if he did not through all
his life honor and respect the man who taught him to read. This is at
least one good thing to be found in the old-fashioned wat education;
but just how it is gained, and where the secret of success lies, are
somewhat of a mystery.
Doubtless, it is partly owing to the religious element. The
yellow-robes themselves are objects of veneration, and Buddha, as it
is claimed, was only a teacher, so that the office of teaching, as
well as the dress of the teacher, is calculated to inspire fear and
respect. And perhaps the _birch_ or ratan discipline, which is often
terribly severe, may have something to do with it. A mistake in
writing or spelling usually brings down the teacher’s lash, and this
is called _son hi chum_ (teaching to remember); for a more heinous
offence of disobedience or want of respect toward his teacher the
pupil’s hands are tied around a post, and then he is whipped――not four
or five strokes, but it is one, two or three _dozen_, as the case
seems to require. A teacher is supposed to take an interest in his
pupil, and the pupil to be improving, just in proportion to the amount
of corporal punishment administered.
One day a man brought his boy to put him into the “King’s School.”
After the arrangements were all made and he was about to say
“Good-bye” to his boy, he turned to the principal of the school and
said, “Please whip him a great deal; I want him to learn fast. If at
any time you think he deserves one dozen, please give him two dozen,
and if you think he deserves two dozen, please give him four dozen.
Don’t let him be a dunce.” And with this loving injunction he took his
leave. Another little boy has dropped out of the same school entirely,
the probable reason being that his grandmother’s repeated request to
_te hi mak mak_ (whip him a great deal) was entirely disregarded.
These wat-schools――if schools they may be called――are free from all
the trammels of school laws and school committees, each teacher being
left free to follow his own will in everything. Neither are there any
school-houses or school-furniture. The teacher seats himself,
tailor-fashion, on the floor of his own filthy, cheerless room, and
his pupils sit in the same way around him.
There is only one school-book (which is a kind of combined primer and
reader), and after that is mastered the learner must practice reading
on whatever he can find; it may be a fabulous tale, a drama or a
ghost-story, but certainly it will not be a good and truthful book
that will elevate and improve the reader, for the literature of Siam
has nothing of that kind. Occasionally the books that have been
prepared by the missionaries are found in the hands of these wat-boys,
but that is the exception and not the rule.
These schools have no regular school-term, and of course no vacations;
no regular hours for study, and of course none for play; no classes,
and of course no emulation and no chance for a dull boy to be helped
over the hard places by his near neighbor. The whole work is
controlled by the whim of the teacher at the time, without principle
and without rule.
If a boy recites once or twice a week, all is well, and if he recites
only once or twice a month, still it is all right; and if in the
course of eight or ten years he has learned very little, there is no
one to complain. He has at least been kept out of the way at home, and
now he is of such an age that he can become a _nain_ and spend a few
more years in obtaining a smattering of the Pali or sacred language,
and after this he can become a full-fledged priest, which is the
summit of the fondest parent’s wishes.
While a boy is at a wat he is not usually called a scholar or pupil,
but a _wat-boy_――a name which generally implies everything that is
naughty. His companions are idle, vicious fellows, fond of
cockfighting, swearing and gambling, and he grows up among them bad
just in proportion as he is clever and gifted.
The conservative men of Siam are bewailing these latter days, and
among other things they aver that wat education is not what it was in
the good old times long ago――that then the priests were more strict
with their boys, and made them work and study more than they do now.
This may be so. But if the men who were educated in the temples years
ago, and who should now be the pillars and producers of the country,
are to be taken as exponents of what that system of education can do
for manhood, then we may safely infer that temple-life was at that
time just what it is now――a school of idleness and vice, and those who
leave its haunts are fitted only for a lazy, aimless existence. This
the natives themselves freely admit, and the time has evidently come
when something better is demanded.
While Siam has been doing, perhaps, the best she knew for her sons,
her daughters in some respects have been much better off. They are not
supposed to need any education, and are therefore trained from
childhood to help their mothers with all kinds of heavy as well as
light work. Thus it comes to pass that the girls grow up to be the
“hewers of wood and drawers of water,” the planters and the traders of
Siam, while the influence of their brothers is to a great extent a
dead weight on the prosperity of the country.
And now what have missionaries done to show Siam a better way?
Christianity implies knowledge, and missionaries believe in schools.
“The Oriental mind is quick in childhood, but early stops its growth;”
then to civilize and Christianize such a people the most hopeful plan
is to begin with the children. So, wherever a Presbyterian mission has
been established in Siam the church and the school have grown up
together.
The mission-school for boys in Bangkok was opened in the early days of
the work there, and through all these years it has been doing a grand
work in educating the children of the Church as well as those brought
to it from heathen families, who have often carried the blessed truths
of the Bible with them to their heathen homes. In this, which was the
first mission-school in Siam, many plans have been tried and much
valuable experience gained.
In Siam, as in other Eastern countries, the native mind is becoming
roused to seek for knowledge, and there is a growing desire to learn
the English language. This wish draws many into the boys’ school who
would not otherwise be found there. Trade and commerce are calling for
clerks and assistants who have a knowledge of English, and a boy with
only a smattering of the coveted foreign tongue is in demand at high
wages, and is thus often induced to leave school long before he is fit
for a business-life. This at present is a great detriment to all the
schools, but as the demand becomes supplied a higher standard will be
necessary and a more thorough education sought.
In the boys’ mission-school it has been found necessary to have all
who enter make a written promise to remain a specified number of
years, so as to ensure a reasonable knowledge of English and a better
knowledge of that more important lesson, that “God so loved the world
that he gave his only-begotten Son.” There is hardly a business-house
in Bangkok that does not have one or more than one young man in its
employ who has been educated in the mission-school, and some of them
are consistent Christian men, a credit to their teachers and an honor
to the school.
[Illustration: A SCHOOL IN SIAM.]
Buddhism is planned only for men, and so girls are not taught in the
wat-schools; but as the religion of Jesus takes in the whole family,
misson-work would be lame indeed without its schools for girls. In the
East knowledge is thought to be not only unnecessary, but positively
injurious, to women; so when the missionary ladies first tried to
gather up pupils for a girls’ school they met with all kinds of
objections from the parents. In the first place, they could not
understand the motives. How could any one be so unselfish as to spend
time in teaching a lot of girls without any compensation? They did not
believe it. So at once evil-minded persons spread infamous tales, and
explained the thing by affirming that it was only a trick to secure
the children, and by and by they would be sent to America and sold as
slaves.
Another objection was that for girls to go to school was altogether
_against the custom_, and that, of itself, was enough in Siam. Again,
suppose they went to school and learned to read, then they would know
more than their mothers, and how could they honor and respect their
parents, as they were in duty bound to do?
But the greatest objection of all was that the girls were the workers
in the family, and if they were to spend the day in school who would
_ha kin_ (seek a living) for the family? And this seemed to be a real
difficulty.
The question of bread and meat, or rather rice and fish, the
missionary could neither ignore nor argue away. These heathen mothers
in this respect were just like other human beings: they would not
willingly give up their daughters’ help at home, which was of real
value to the whole family, for an education which they believed would
be injurious in every way. They hated the new religion and despised
the offered education.
As far as could be seen then, there was but one way out of the
difficulty; and so the question was asked, “How much can your girl
earn per day?” and the old mother answered, “When she finds work she
makes a _fuang_ per day” (seven and a half cents). Then said the
missionary, “Send her to me, and I will let her spend half the day in
learning to read and the other half in working, and _for her work_ I
will pay her a fuang.” At this the mother began to waver, and at last
said, “I am very poor, and sometimes it is hard to find work, so I
will let her try it.” The next morning the industrial school for girls
at Petchaburee was opened with one scholar, and she was seated on the
floor of the veranda of the mission-house, and for nearly a month
there were no additions. But there are times when it is safe to wait.
A very simple white jacket was cut, and Perm was taught to make it for
herself. After many days, and with pushing the needle from her instead
of drawing it toward her, and with holding the seam between her little
bare toes instead of pinning it to her knee, the jacket was pronounced
finished and ready to wear――the first the child had ever owned in her
life. Then she was allowed to take some soap and give herself a bath,
and then to don her new jacket and a new waist-cloth. That evening,
when she went home, she was the happiest child in the village, and
served as a good advertisement of the new-fashioned school. Before
very long the veranda and the missionary’s hands were both full.
That was seventeen years ago, and from that time to this the school
has been carried on, and done a grand good work in many respects――one
of the most important of which is that it has furnished teachers for
five branch schools that have been established in different localities
around it. Many of its pupils are now industrious and pious wives and
mothers at the head of Christian families, while a few have gone, as
there is good reason to believe, to finish their education in heaven.
Some object strongly to the plan of giving money to the pupils of
mission-schools, and perhaps elsewhere: _giving boarding_ instead of
money, or some other plan, might be better; but after so many years of
experience those in charge are fully convinced that for Petchaburee
this is the only feasible plan.
If a respectable, self-reliant Church is ever built up in Siam, it
will be by cultivating the graces of industry, cleanliness and
godliness together; and the best place to do this is in well-appointed
industrial schools. Would that such could be established all over the
country for both boys and girls, and then we might reasonably hope
that some time the number of idle loungers might grow “beautifully
less”!
A few years ago the king showed his appreciation of what this school
was doing for his people when he gave a donation of two thousand
dollars to help furnish the new school-building.
Some years after the girls’ school at Petchaburee was started a school
was established for girls in Bangkok, but on a different plan in some
respects, the former being a day-school and for the working classes,
while the latter is a boarding-school and for a higher class of
pupils. In this school instruction is given in both the native and
English languages, and the industries are principally ornamental. Some
specimens of the work done in this school were put into the Centennial
Exhibition in 1882, and His Majesty paid a pleasant compliment to the
school when he purchased the entire lot for use in the royal palace.
A knowledge of what the mission-schools are doing for those under
their care no doubt at first suggested to His Majesty’s mind the idea
of inaugurating something in the way of government schools that would
be after the American model and entirely different from the
wat-schools. As a first step, the “King’s School” was planned, and at
the king’s request was placed in charge of one of the American
missionaries.
As yet, this school is only an infant in years, and no prophet has
been found wise enough to foretell what its future may be. It has
passed through all the diseases incident to childhood and youth, and
some of them have been of a most malignant nature. But, what was worst
of all, its doctors could never agree as to where the trouble was or
what remedies should be used. At length, however, it began to improve,
and now, at four years of age, it begins to breathe freely and develop
in strength and manly beauty. May Heaven’s richest blessing rest upon
it, and may God grant that the strength of its manhood may be
consecrated to his service!
Difficulties are to be expected in the prosecution of every new
enterprise, and the most hopeful friends of the King’s School have not
been much disappointed with its various trials. The committee to whose
care His Majesty committed this school were entirely unused to
educational affairs, and for want of experience many and serious
blunders were made. But experience has taught useful lessons for
future use, and the time seems to be near when steps will be taken to
provide something better to take the place of the wat-school.
The native mind is being directed to this subject as never before. A
striking proof of this fact is, that the queen, who is a most zealous
Buddhist, is now having a large and beautiful school-building put up
as a monument to her royal sister, who was drowned two years ago. This
building is not yet finished, and it is not known just how it is to be
managed; but it certainly seems to mark a new era, as heretofore
Buddhist temples were the only memorial buildings in the country.
One great question for the near future seems to be, What kind of
influences will mould and shape this new educational work? Will it be
the English moralist, the French Jesuit, the German infidel or the
American Christian? The king plainly intimated his wishes when he
asked a missionary to take charge of the school under his own
patronage. And while at that time there were hardly missionaries
enough in Siam to hold on to the direct mission-work, still the hope
of securing the vantage-ground for Christianity was such that the
request could not be refused. And although, as yet, direct religious
instruction cannot be a part of the daily routine of the school-room,
there is no need to be in haste. Much must first be done to disarm
prejudice and to conciliate the minds of conservative Buddhists, and
prove to them that the missionaries are _true_ friends, who labor for
the highest welfare of the country. When that shall be made evident,
more liberty will be accorded to Christian instructors.
Some of the members of the royal family are afraid to trust the
heir-apparent and his royal brothers to the influence of Christianity;
so a Calcutta Brahman has been employed and a school started in the
palace. A friend went to visit this school one day, and the teacher
handed some writing-books to the visitor to let him see how well the
little princes could write. Almost the first page he looked at had
this as a copy: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”
This shows what unexpected means God sometimes takes to teach the
truths of his own word, and how foolish it is for any one to suppose
that the English language can be learned without learning the religion
of Jesus at the same time. May this not be the great good that God in
his providence means to bring out of this universal desire for a
knowledge of the English language? It is so full of Christianity that
to know the one is to know the other.
May we not hope that our mother-tongue may some day become the
language of all nations, and that Christianity may be the religion of
the world?
[Illustration: A FEW OF THE CHILDREN OF THE LATE FIRST KING OF SIAM.]
CHAPTER XII.
_HOLIDAYS IN SIAM._
Siamese holidays are very different from those of Europe and America.
They have no Christmas, for, as a nation, they know nothing about
Christ. Their New Year holidays, strange to say, are not celebrated in
the first month of the year, but in the fifth, which corresponds to
our March or April. On one of the three days that they then observe
the doors of the temples are thrown open, and the people――women and
children especially――dressed in their best attire, enter, and, bowing
down before the idol, make offerings of flowers. The more wealthy have
prayers and preaching at their own houses, when they feast the priests
and make presents to them. During these days all are allowed to
gamble, and men, women and children engage in games of chance with all
their hearts. On New Year’s Day we, in Christian lands, pray our
heavenly Father to watch over and bless us and our friends through the
year. In this heathen land the king has companies of priests on the
tops of the walls around the city proper going through certain
ceremonies in concert to drive away evil spirits, and on one of these
nights large and small guns are fired for this purpose from the top of
the walls every twenty minutes till morning.
Soon after New Year’s Day, and again some six months later, the
Siamese princes, lords and nobles, and all among the people who hold
any office, however small, take the oath of allegiance. They assemble
at the royal palace and drink the “water of vengeance” and sprinkle it
upon their foreheads. Do you ask, “What is the water of vengeance?” It
is water in which have been dipped swords, daggers, spears and other
instruments by which the king executes vengeance on those who rebel
against him. By drinking of it they express their willingness to be
punished with these instruments if found disloyal. The priests are
excused from this service by virtue of the sanctity of their office,
but they meet in the royal temple on that day and perform appropriate
religious services. Some of this water is sent to the residences of
the governors in the distant provinces, and the neighboring people
assemble there to drink it.
Soon after the ceremony of taking the oath of allegiance the Siamese
have for four days a kind of _second New Year_, the time for which is
fixed by the sun instead of the moon. The priests are invited to meet
at the palace for a royal festival, and the people too feast the
priests and one another and play at their games of chance. The women
bring water, and bathe first the idols, and then their grandparents
and other aged relatives, by pouring water freely upon them.
They observe three days of their sixth month with very great
veneration as the anniversaries of the birth, the attaining to
divinity and the death of Buddha. These three days are a great time
for “making merit,” which they think they do by giving to the poor, by
making offerings to the priests and to the idols and by listening to
prayers and preaching. All classes, young and old, high and low, rich
and poor, go to the temple-grounds and make little conical mounds of
sand a foot or two high, surmounted with flowers and small flags of
all colors.
At the beginning of seed-time, generally in May, the time being fixed
by astrologers, they have their _Raknah_ holiday, when the minister of
agriculture is for the day regarded as king, because he, as the king’s
substitute, holds the plough, breaks up the ground and plants the
first rice of the year. He is escorted by a public procession to some
field, and there the priests, after superstitious ceremonies, decorate
a pair of oxen with flowers and fasten them to a plough, which is also
trimmed with flowers. The minister then holds the plough while the
oxen drag it over the ground for about an hour. Four elderly women
from the king’s household scatter rice over the ploughed part of the
field, and leave it there uncovered. The oxen are then liberated, and
four kinds of the grain that the people most prize are placed before
them. Whichever kind they eat much of the people think will be scarce;
that of which they eat little or none they think will be abundant
throughout the year, and they plant accordingly.
They have two holidays every year for _swinging_, when the minister of
agriculture is carried by a long procession to a place where there is
a high swing between two tall poles. A brick platform covered with
white muslin and tastefully curtained has been prepared for him.
Attended by four Brahman priests, two on his right hand and two on his
left, he ascends this platform and stands on one foot till three games
of swinging are ended, which generally occupy two hours. If he
ventures to touch his foot once to the floor during the games, it is
said the Brahmans are allowed to take all his property from him. The
game is to catch in the mouth a purse of money that is suspended
within reach of the swinger. When the games are over the swingers
sprinkle on all about them water that has been made holy by the
priests. This is the Brahmanical mode of calling down blessings on the
people of the land. About noon the minister is escorted home by a
procession similar to the one that took him there. These ceremonies
and games are repeated on the second day. Princes and officers of
government and dense crowds of the people are present to witness them.
The Siamese observe a season that may be called the Buddhist Lent,
when for three months the priests must not go so far away from their
temples as not to be able to return at night. All classes anticipate
this season, and provide for them such food as parched rice and corn,
also natural and artificial flowers, silvered and gilded trees, and
other articles to make their dormitories pleasant and inviting. The
day these gifts are presented is called the _Kow Wasah_ holiday. Some
of the gifts the priests offer to the idol; others they present to
their elders and to aged priests in the same temple with themselves.
When the Buddhist Lent is ended and the priests are allowed to come
out of the temples and travel where they please, the _Auk Wasah_
holidays are observed. In anticipation of their coming out, as of
their going in, the laity, from the highest to the lowest, prepare
clothing suitable for their wanderings. The kings have numerous
priests’ robes made of white cotton shirting dyed yellow, which is the
sacred color. The people prepare gifts according to their means. The
first three evenings there is a grand display of fireworks on the
river in front of the palaces, His Majesty honoring the occasion with
his presence. The river is alive with joyous, pleasure-seeking people
hastening to the scene. Offerings consisting of little skiffs and
rafts of banana-stalks are seen upon the river. On these are temples,
pagodas and transparencies of birds and beasts, all brightly
illuminated with wax candles. They are sent off one at a time, and
float down with the tide, beautifully illuminating the river. The
people make their own family offerings on these evenings an hour or
two before the king comes out from the palace; the floats may be seen
all over the city in the river and canals near their homes. When these
floats have all been disposed of, the king applies a match to
fireworks that have been arranged in boats near, and then are seen
trees of fire, green shrubbery and a variety of flowers of
ever-changing colors, with rockets and squibs in great profusion.
A few days later commence the _Taut Katin_ ceremonies, or the annual
visitation of the kings to the sixty or seventy royal temples to
perform their devotions and make offerings to the priests. This is one
of the great events of the year――a festival season with the people.
The temples near the palace within the city-walls are first visited.
His Majesty, seated on an elegant golden chair of state sparkling with
gems, is borne on men’s shoulders and followed by princes and nobles
in costly carriages and by other vehicles loaded with presents of
various kinds. Then for some twelve days he, with all his princes,
ministers of state and high nobles, makes a business of visiting daily
some three or four of the temples that are accessible only by water,
and after this the second king makes his visits. The river presents a
very animated appearance as the boat-processions pass escorting His
Majesty. It is filled with barges, slender and graceful in their
proportions, each propelled by from forty to eighty natives, who fill
the air with their wild outcries as they simultaneously dip their long
paddles into the water and then raise them high into the air. First,
two by two, will be a score of canoe-like vessels, each perhaps fifty
feet long, with a bright crimson awning over the centre and some sixty
or seventy men in red uniform; then boats with music preceding the
stately barge that conveys His Majesty. This is perhaps one hundred
and twenty feet long, besides the gilded stern, which curves
gracefully up some fifteen or twenty feet from the water. From prow
and stern hang two graceful plumes of long white horse-hair, and
between them a small apron-like banner floats in the breeze. In the
centre of the boat reclines His Majesty on an elevated cushioned
platform, in a pavilion with an arching roof from which hang curtains
of crimson-and-gold cloth. The barge is propelled by eighty men with
long gilded paddles. Following the king will be a crowd of similar
elegant boats with the princes and nobles. These boats hover near in
clusters of sevens or fives or threes, and after them others, till
there is a train of eighty or a hundred boats, containing perhaps four
thousand men. All this is a splendid sight, but the Christian beholder
is pained by the thought that the display is to do honor to a false
religion and a false god.
[Illustration: CARRYING THE KING TO THE TEMPLE.]
While the kings are thus engaged the common people in city and country
are visiting their favorite temples and priests. Families unite, and
groups of boats may be seen filled with young men and maidens in their
gayest attire, while the air resounds with Siamese instrumental music
and the merry shouts of the boatmen as they convey their presents of
priests’ robes, fruit and flowers to the temple.
The visitation of the temples over, the _Taut Katin_ ceremonies wind
up with a repetition for three evenings of fireworks much the same as
already described.
Superstition and the worship of idols enter not only into the holidays
of the Siamese, but into everything they do. “They praise the gods of
silver and gold, of brass, iron, wood and stone, which see not, nor
hear, nor know: and the God in whose hand their breath is, and whose
are all their ways, they have not glorified;” “Happy is that people
whose God is the Lord.”
CHAPTER XIII.
_VISIT TO A GAMBLING ESTABLISHMENT._
I have just now returned from exploring a celebrated gambling
establishment near my house. It is a floating house occupied by a
Chinaman. Chinamen are the master-gamblers of Siam.
All the front of the room in which the gamblers are seated is open to
the river. As you pass along you may see them in a brilliant light,
sitting in two parties on the floor, and most interested in their
bewitching games. Just in front is a little recess on a float, which
is occupied by the musicians and play-actors. Here you will at one
time hear the deafening peals of the gong, the horns through which
they speak making unearthly sounds, then the grating notes of their
various stringed instruments, then all together with human voices the
most unmusical imaginable.
Between these play-actors and the gamblers there is a paper screen,
with lamplight on the side of the performers, where a man is employed
in making shadow puppet-shows for the amusement of the spectators, and
no doubt contributing to the fascinating power of the gambling-shop.
[Illustration: SIAMESE ACTRESS.]
There are many such establishments down the river, and probably many
hundred in Bangkok, which are licensed by government. They afford no
small amount of revenue, but they are, single-handed, undermining the
pillars of this kingdom. Three days in the year the people are allowed
to gamble as they please.
This sin will assuredly be the ruin of this nation unless there is a
speedy reformation.
NOTE.――“Play usually begins late in the afternoon, and lasts
half the night. At one end of a Chinese gambling-saloon is
often an altar, and on it a figure of the god of luck. When
tired of gambling the Siamese adjourn to the neighboring
theatre, where they spend an hour or two watching the
Lakons’ theatrical performances, in which only girls, as a
rule, take part.”
CHAPTER XIV.
_SIAMESE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF MEDICINE._
Nature, according to the Siamese, is made up of four elements――namely,
earth, fire, wind and water.
The human body is supposed to be composed of the same elements, which
they divide into two classes――visible and invisible. To the former
belong everything that can be seen, as the bones, flesh, blood, etc.;
to the latter, the wind and the fire.
The body is composed of twenty kinds of earth, twelve kinds of water,
six kinds of wind and four kinds of fire. The varieties of wind are as
follows: The first kind passes from the head to the feet, and the
second variety from the feet to the head; the third variety resides
above the diaphragm, and the fourth circulates in the arteries,
forming the pulse; the fifth enters the lungs, and the sixth resides
in the intestines. The four kinds of fire are――first, that which gives
the body its natural temperature; the second, that which causes a
higher temperature, as after exercise or in fevers; the third variety
causes digestion, and the fourth causes old age. The Siamese divide
the body into thirty-two parts, as the skin, heart, lungs, etc. The
body is subject to ninety-six diseases, due to the disarrangement of
the earth, wind, fire and water. Thus, if there is an undue proportion
of fire we have one of the fevers. Dropsies are caused by too great a
proportion of water, and wind causes all manner of complaints. Nine
out of ten of the natives, when asked what is the matter with them,
answer “_Pen lom_” (“wind”).
The external elements are constantly acting upon the elements making
up the body, causing health or disease. Thus, in the hot season they
believe we are more liable to fevers, and during the wet season too
much water is absorbed, causing dropsy. Earth is supposed to produce
disease by invisible and impalpable mists and vapors.
Spirits are supposed to have great power over our bodies, deranging
the elements and producing all manner of diseases. The minds of the
natives are thus held in continual bondage for fear of the spirits,
for no one knows what great sins he may have committed in a previous
state of existence for which he may be called upon to suffer at any
moment. Thus the people are constantly endeavoring to propitiate the
spirits by presents, incantations, etc.
In the time of Buddha lived one still worshiped as the father of
medicine. To him it is said the plants all spoke, telling their names
and medical properties. These were written in books, and have become
sacred. If they fail to produce the effects attributed to them, the
fault is never theirs, but the want of success is due to the absence
of merit in either doctor or patient. The natives use almost
everything as medicine; the bones and skins of various animals occupy
a large part of their pharmacopœia, while the galls of snakes, tigers,
lizards, etc. are among the most valuable of their medicines. Many of
the Siamese remedies are very complicated, being composed of scores of
different ingredients.
The following is a characteristic prescription for the bite of a
snake: A portion of the jaw of a wild hog; a portion of the jaw of a
tame hog; a portion of the jaw of a goat; a portion of goose-bone; a
portion of peacock-bone; a portion of the tail of a fish; a portion of
the head of a venomous snake. These, being duly compounded, form a
popular remedy when the venom has caused lockjaw.
Many other native remedies are equally marvelous, but I cannot mention
them. Every native physician has an image of the father of medicine in
his house. The drugs are placed in this idol’s hand and receive his
blessing; afterward they are taken to the patient’s house and boiled
in earthen pots, a wickerwork star being placed below and above the
drugs to give the medicines strength. The patient is usually obliged
to swallow many potsful of medicine, each pot containing two or three
quarts. If the patient dies, the doctor gets no fee.
The influence which Western medical science is exerting in Siam is
shown in the following incident, mentioned in a recent Bangkok
newspaper. The young man alluded to is a graduate of the Presbyterian
mission boarding-school: “Dr. Tien Hee, who received a diploma from
the New York University School of Medicine, where he graduated some
years ago, performed a very difficult and delicate operation a few
days ago upon a distinguished Siamese official, and we learn with
pleasure that the king has since graciously permitted him to practice
in the royal palace.”
A writer in the same paper gives the following account of a hospital
established by the Siamese, and conducted by a graduate of a Western
medical college, the same that is mentioned above: “To-day (November
29th) I had the pleasure of visiting the first and only hospital
organized and controlled by the Siamese within the kingdom of Siam. It
was opened for the reception of patients on the 14th of December. It
is a large, airy, two-storied building, situated within the
city-walls, near Sampeng market-gate, and has capacity for sixty
patients. It is a hospital devoted to the exclusive care of soldiers,
and is under the management of a Siamese physician, Dr. Tien Hee. Siam
owes the establishment of its first hospital to the energy of one of
its most intelligent noblemen, Pra Nai Wai, who completed and
presented the building for it to the Siamese government. His Majesty
accepted the gift and has promised it his support. It has for its
director a cultivated and capable Siamese physician, who will be able
to give the patients the benefit of Western medical and surgical
science.”
CHAPTER XV.
_CHOLERA-TIMES IN BANGKOK._
Those indeed were dreadful days in the summer of 1849, when, after
being free from it thirty years, cholera again broke out in Siam; when
in less than a fortnight more than twenty thousand people perished in
the one city of Bangkok; when, go where you would in the streets, you
would meet men carrying their dead slung from a bamboo borne on the
shoulders of two of them; when hundreds of corpses were thrown into
the river and heaps on heaps were piled up like logs and burned to get
them out of the way.
I need not say that the Siamese were very much frightened when this
dreadful disease broke out among them. They saw their friends and
neighbors sicken in an hour and dying on their right hand and left in
almost every house, and each one feared it might be his turn next. But
where did they look for help? Did the king proclaim a fast-day, think
you? and the people repent of their many sins and pray to God to have
mercy on them? Alas! God was not in the thoughts of this people at
all. Their religion teaches them there is no God――no Creator who made
the world: the world made itself, they say; it always was. The god
they do worship, Buddha, whose images are in every temple, was nothing
but a mere man like themselves, and, now he has left the world, knows
nothing, cares nothing, about it, or indeed about aught else.
The common notion about the pestilence was that an army of wicked
spirits had come invisibly to carry off mankind to make them their
servants in the unseen world. Oh, how anxious they were to make these
spirits of the air their friends! So the people made various offerings
in order to conciliate the good-will of these spirits of the air.
It was a common practice in those days to form a little square tray
from pieces of the plantain tree, and, placing the offerings
thereupon, leave them by the side of the street, where the spirits
would find them, or else, placing them on the water, let them float
down the stream. The river and land were full of them.
Coming home one night, I stumbled over one right in my path, and,
having a lantern, stopped to examine it. On the rude tray, which was
about a foot square, were strewed rice, some coarse salt tied up in a
little rag, some fresh flowers, betel-nut, sliced plantain, the end of
a torch, and two rough images of clay representing a man and woman,
each with a dirty shred of cloth about it. The object in making images
was that the spirits might accept them for their servants instead of
the persons who offered them. The invisible spirits never carried off
any of these dainty gifts, but I have seen sensible-looking dogs
helping themselves freely to the rice and whatever else was eatable.
Some would take great pains to make perfect little models of a Chinese
junk, painted gayly, and fit them out with little red and white
banners, wax tapers, fruit and flowers. These boats contained as
passengers clay images of men, women and children, and at dusk the
tapers were lighted and the little vessels launched on the river as an
offering to the spirits, to be borne away on the tide. Many charms
were also used to keep off the evil spirits that bring disease. They
consisted of strips of paper with various squares and marks upon them,
sewed up in bits of red cloth or leather of a three-cornered shape.
But by far the most common practice as a preventive of cholera was
wearing a few strands of cotton yarn about the neck or wrist. Go where
you would, in the market or along the river-side, nearly all women and
children wore this white string. I have been in the houses of noblemen
where one had just been taken sick, when all the women of the family
were busy dividing a hank of cotton yarn into portions and tying them
around the wrists or necks of themselves and their children with as
much earnestness as though their lives depended on it. Often in trying
to feel for the pulse of some poor dying creature have I pushed this
cotton thread away to get at the wrist.
Many houses were entirely encircled by a long cotton cord, with bits
of written paper fastened to it here and there. The outer
palace-walls, more than a mile in circumference, were thus girt
around, the cord looped up from the battlements every few rods. But
Death crossed the enchanted line, if the spirits did not, and hundreds
of the king’s large household were swept away.
The pestilence had not been prevailing long before the Chinese in the
city, at their houses on land and at every floating house for miles
along the river and canals, had a tall bamboo pole put up, with cords
attached by which a little lantern could be raised to the top. After
dark, when all these were lighted, they gave the river a beautiful
appearance. This foolish waste of oil was kept up all night for weeks
and months. Besides this, the Chinese tried to get the favor of their
gods by the firing of crackers, boat-races and processions on land and
water.
There were other spirits, besides those that they supposed had caused
the pestilence, that the Siamese treated with great respect during
those days. Before or near almost every house, raised on a single pole
about as high as one’s head, stood a little wooden house, having one
small room opening on a little porch. In this porch and room you would
always find a quantity of offerings――such curious ones, too, that you
would be more sure than ever it was a doll’s play-house, yet the
grown-up members of the family had built them to secure the good-will
of the spirit guarding the spot occupied by their dwelling.
A piece of board shaped something like the head of a spear, slips of
cloth covered with written characters, little clay images of
elephants, horses, men and women, rice, betel-nut, tobacco and
flowers,――these would be offered, in addition to the wax tapers kept
burning and food set out, if any of the family were sick.
The worshiping of these spirits is a kind of superstition that appears
to have been handed down by the forefathers of the Siamese from the
ancient times before the Buddhist religion, which throws no light upon
it, was introduced into their country. As the people believe that
these spirits can protect them from sickness during cholera-time, the
offering-houses are well supplied, and the little sprites (had there
been any) would not have lacked tobacco, betel, food and clothing, or
clay horses to ride.
The temples of the idols and the priests were not forgotten in those
days. The preaching-places were filled with hearers, presents were
made in abundance to the priests and there was much bowing to idols.
One great man was sure that he could not die of cholera because he had
gained so much merit by paying the expenses of making a number of new
priests――some three or four hundred _ticals_; but he too was taken
away by the fatal disease. Priests were in demand also to chant
prayers over the dying, that they might be happy in the next life. I
was much affected by seeing a poor mother trying to comfort her son, a
young man stricken down by disease and fast sinking. She told him to
think of the favor of his god, and then, putting his hands together
with the palms touching, as he was too far gone to raise them himself,
lifted them for him above his head, as is done in the worship of
Buddha. And so this life went out, as thousands upon thousands have
done since, in blind groping after its god, and this mother was left,
as many, many mothers in that land have been left, without one ray of
hope or light beyond the borderland which the spirit of her dear one
had passed.
CHAPTER XVI.
_SIAMESE CUSTOMS FOR THE DYING AND DEAD._
When a Buddhist prince or princess is at the point of death, the
attendants, wishing to give the departing spirit as good a passport
into the spirit-world as possible, suspend every other care and
address themselves to the work of fixing the thoughts of the dying one
upon Buddha. To accomplish this they take turns in enunciating as
clearly as possible the name of Buddha generally employed when in
health――_P’ra Arahang_.
Whenever the writer has been present at the death of an adult member
of the royal family, this has been the name used. It is uttered as
often as eight or ten times in a minute. This is done, hoping that the
departed spirit will thus be helped to think of Buddha, and that that
will accumulate a large fund of merit to his credit which will become
of vast service to him in the spirit-world. It would seem to be a
service having much the same object as that of the “_extreme unction_”
of the Roman Catholics. It is continued from ten to fifteen minutes
after the pulse has stopped its beating and the lungs their heaving,
even until the body is cold and stiff in death.
When all evidence of hearing is gone the attending friends will raise
their voices almost to a stunning pitch, hoping that they may force
the departing spirit to hear the name of _P’ra Arahang_. When the most
loving friends have ceased to have any lingering hope that the dead
can hear them longer, then the continuous and deafening sounds of
_P’ra Arahang_ are exchanged for the most uncontrollable wailings,
which are so loud that they can be heard at a great distance. Then all
members of the family, including the slaves in the house within
hearing, join in a general outburst of crying and sobbing.
When a prince of high rank has just died, other princes, nobles and
lords, in the order of their rank, step up one by one and pour a
dipper of water upon the corpse. Certain officials in the household
dress the body for a sitting posture in a pair of tightly-fitting
short pantaloons and jacket, and over these a winding sheet wrapped
around the body as firmly as possible. Thus prepared, the corpse is
placed in a copper urn with an iron grating for its bottom, and this
is put into one made of fine gold, with an outlet at the most pendent
point, and a stopcock from which the fluid parts of the body are daily
drawn off until it becomes quite dry. The golden urn is then placed on
an elevated platform, while conch-shell blowers and trumpeters and
pipers perform their several parts with the greatest possible harmony
of such instruments. This act is called _Ch’on p’ra sop K’u’n p’ra
taan_――literally, an invitation to the corpse to be seated on the
platform.
When thus seated all the insignia of royalty which the prince was wont
to have about him in life are arranged in due order at his feet――viz.
his golden betel-box, his cigar-case, his golden spittoon, his writing
apparatus, etc. The band of musicians now perform a funeral dirge; and
they assemble daily at early dawn, at noon and at nightfall to perform
in concert with a company of mourning women who bewail the dead and
chant his virtues. In the intervals a company of Buddhist priests,
four at a time, sitting on the floor a little distant from the
platform, recite moral lessons and chant incantations in the Pali,
with loud, clear, musical intonations.
This service is continued day and night, with only the intervals for
the performance of the dirges and mourning women, and a few minutes
each hour as the four priests retire and another four come in and take
their place. This is kept up from week to week and month to month
until the time appointed for burning the corpse has arrived, which may
be from two to six or even eight months. The remains of a king are
usually kept from eight to twelve months. (In the present case the
remains have been kept seventeen months.)
In event of the death of a king his successor immediately begins
preparations for the _P’ramene_, which is the splendid temporary
building under which the body is to sit in state several days on a
throne glittering with silver, gold and precious stones, and then and
there to be committed to the flames.
The building is intended to be in size and grandeur according to the
estimation in which the deceased was held. Royal orders are forthwith
sent to the governors of four different provinces far away to the
north, in which large timber abounds, requiring each of these to
furnish one of the four large logs for the centre pillars of the
_P’ramene_. These must be of the finest timber, usually the oil tree,
very straight, two hundred feet long and proportionately large in
circumference, which the writer has observed to be not less than
twelve feet. There are always twelve other pillars, a little smaller
in size, demanded at the same time from governors of other provinces,
as also much other timber needful in the erection of the _P’ramene_
and the numerous buildings connected with it.
[Illustration: CREMATION TEMPLE: A TEMPORARY BUILDING.]
As sacred custom will not tolerate the use of pillars that have been
used on any former occasion, new ones must be obtained for the funeral
obsequies of each king. These four large pillars are very difficult to
find, and can be floated down to the capital only at seasons of the
year when the rivers where they are found are full. They are hauled to
the banks of the streams by elephants and buffaloes. The great
difficulty of procuring these pillars is one main cause of the usual
long delay of the funeral burning of a king. When brought to the city
they are hauled up to the place of the _P’ramene_ chiefly by the
muscular power of men working by means of a rude windlass and rollers
under the logs. They are then hewed and planed a little――just enough
to remove all crooks and other deformities――and finished off in a
cylindrical form. Then they are planted in the ground thirty feet
deep, one at each corner of a square not less than one hundred and
sixty feet in circumference. When in their proper place they stand
leaning a little toward each other, so that they describe the form of
a four-sided, truncated pyramid from one hundred and fifty to one
hundred and eighty feet high. On the top of these is framed a
pagoda-formed spire, adding from fifty to sixty more feet to the
height of the structure. This upper part is octagonal, and so covered
with yellow tin sheets and tinseled paper as to make a grand
appearance at such a height, but it would not well bear close
inspection.
Surrounding the _P’ramene_ there is a new bamboo fence ten feet high,
enclosing a square of more than two acres, with a gate midway on three
sides. On the inside of this fence are numberless bamboo buildings,
fantastically painted and papered, for the accommodation of the
priests and nobles, one side of the square being chiefly occupied with
buildings for the king’s own accommodation while attending the
ceremonies of the royal cremation. These are distinguished from all
others by having their roofs covered with crimson cloth, the peculiar
horn-like projections at the two ends of their ridges, and by the
golden drapery suspended in front and tastefully gathered up to the
several posts of the hall.
The whole area is neatly covered with bamboo wickerwork, the slats of
which the woof and warp are made being more than an inch wide, forming
thus one unbroken bamboo carpet, giving great elasticity to the steps
of all who walk upon it.
There are placed here and there upon this bamboo floor multitudes of
standards peculiar to the Siamese. Some are like the _Sawe-krachat_,
or royal umbrella of several stories high. Some of them are with
machinery exhibiting a variety of little paper figures in perpetual
action, imaging angels or devils. Here and there you will see a niche
with rude landscape views of the lower series of the Buddhists’
celestial worlds and of princely dwellings there, with delightful
pools and groves and many other sensual luxuries which a heathen mind
fancies a heaven of happiness must give its inhabitants.
Outside of the bamboo fence are buildings for the accommodation of
officers of the government and others who cannot find room within the
enclosure. There are also numerous playhouses for theatrical and
puppet-shows, masquerades, wire-dancing, etc., and, more interesting
to many, the great victualing establishment for all classes above the
vulgar, presenting a large variety of dishes and fruits, well prepared
and tempting to the appetite, all freely offered without price at all
hours of the day.
Thus much of a bird’s-eye view of what may be termed the mere shell of
the _P’ramene_.
The real _P’ramene_ is erected in the centre of the whole, in the
great hall directly under the loftiest spire, and in the centre of
this stands the _P’ra Bencha_, or throne, on which the royal urn is
placed in state. This is a splendid eight-sided pyramid, fifty or
sixty feet in circumference, its base on a floor twenty feet above the
ground. It diminishes by right-angled gradations upward some thirty
feet to a truncated top, and on its top is placed the golden urn
containing the remains of the late king most superbly decorated with
gold, diamonds and other precious stones. Some ten or fifteen feet
above this is suspended from the lofty ceiling a rich golden canopy,
and far up above that is a white circular awning overshadowing the
whole. Immediately under the golden canopy hang the sweetest and
whitest flowers arranged in the form of a large chandelier.
The _Pra Bencha_ is made brilliant by the skillful arrangement on its
several steps of the most showy articles of porcelain, glass,
alabaster, silver and gold artificial flowers and fruits intermixed
with real fruits, little images of birds, beasts, men, women,
children, angels, etc.
For illuminating the hall splendid chandeliers are suspended from the
four corners of the ceiling, assisted by innumerable lesser lights on
the angular gradations of the pyramid.
At the time of placing the royal remains in state on that lofty throne
nearly all the princes, chief nobles and officials in the kingdom
assemble just after the break of day to escort “the sacred corpse” to
its last earthly throne on the summit of the new _P’ramene_.
The golden urn is placed upon a high golden seat in a kind of
Juggernaut car drawn by a pair of horses assisted by hundreds of men.
This vehicle is preceded by two other wheel carriages, the first
occupied solely by the high priest of the kingdom, sitting on a high
seat, reading a sacred book of moral lessons in Pali called
_App’it’am_. The second carriage is occupied by a few of the most
favored children of the deceased. A strip of silver cloth is attached
to the urn and loosely extends to the two front carriages. This forms
the mystical union between the corpse, the sacred book and their royal
highnesses. The carriage behind the one bearing the royal urn carries
some fifty or sixty sticks of imported fragrant wood, richly gilded at
the ends, with which the body is to be burned. Each of these carriages
is drawn by a pair of horses, with scores of men to assist, all
pulling at a rope in front of the beasts.
Figures of elephants, rhinoceroses, lions, tigers and fabulous
animals, all made of bamboo wickerwork and having on their backs large
receptacles for priests’ robes, are drawn on small wooden wheels. In
front and in the rear hundreds of men dressed in white, with
pagoda-form white turbans eight or ten inches tall, purporting to be
angels, walk four abreast and carry glass imitation lotus-flowers.
The moment the procession begins to move the shells, trumpets and
pipes are sounded and the death-drums are beaten with a slow, measured
stroke until the royal hearse reaches the _P’ramene_. By ropes and
pulleys the urn is drawn slowly up with much ceremony and placed on
the splendid throne, to remain in state at least seven days before
burning, the strip of silver cloth extending from the lid of the urn
down the eastern and western sides of the pyramid nearly to the flight
of steps on the east and west sides of the building.
Then the chief priests of the city and from nearly all other parts of
the kingdom begin to assemble, a hundred or more at a time, on the
floor of the _P’ramene_ in sight of the holy urn, and rehearse in
concert lessons in Pali called _P’ang-soo-koon_, which are in
substance reflections on the brevity and uncertainty of human life,
the certainty of death and transmigration, the sorrows connected with
every state of mutability and the blessings of Nipan, where there can
be no more change. Having uttered audibly these short lessons, they
continue in a sitting posture, with downcast looks, a few minutes,
reflecting silently on the condition of the living and the dead, and
then retire, giving place to another hundred or more to recite the
same lessons. Thus they come and go until thousands of the chief
priests and others of lower rank have had the honor; and this is
repeated every day while the corpse sits in state and for three days
afterward.
All the princes and nobles and royal servants are dressed in white.
Every Siamese subject, noble or plebeian, man and woman, bond and
free, must then out of respect for the dead have his head entirely
shaven.
The multitudes of priests are sumptuously fed from the royal bounty
early every morning, and again before noon. Yellow robes are prepared
for them at the expense of the king’s private purse. To every chief
priest he gives a complete suit, and to every other priest some
important part of a suit, if not the whole. Besides the yellow robes,
the king has also in readiness vast provisions of bedsteads, fully
furnished with mosquito-bars, mattresses, pillows, towels, spittoons,
betel-boxes, cigar-cases, rice-kettles, lacquered trays, lamps,
candles, boats with little houses on them, and other articles which
the priests need in their daily calling. These articles he distributes
to them every day.
Another performance, usually more exciting than all the rest, is the
daily scattering of money broadcast among the thousands that have
assembled there for the sport. The king takes personally a very lively
part in it. The money and jewelry are usually imbedded in little green
limes or small balls of wood, to prevent them from getting lost among
the crowd. His Majesty, standing in his temporary palace-door, having
bushels of limes at his feet, each charged with one piece of money,
taking up a handful at a time, throws them, often so guiding his hand
as that some peculiar favorite shall have the best chance in the
game――some corpulent prince whom he wishes to set into ludicrous
motion by his efforts to catch the flying prize. To show proper
respect, every one, whether prince or prime minister or consul or
missionary, must exert himself to catch His Majesty’s gifts while
flying, and must go down on all fours grabbing after them at the feet
of the multitude if they happen to fall there. He manifestly enjoys
the sport, often laughing most heartily at the sight of the jumping,
scrambling and groveling eagerness of his lords to obtain the limes.
Sometimes the limes are hung on artificial trees called _ton
Kappapruk_――literally, “trees that gratified the desires of men.” They
are intended to represent the four trees that are to be found in each
of the four corners of the city in which the next Buddha is to be
born, and which will bear not only money, but seri-leaf, betel-nut,
oranges, clothing, gold, diamonds――in short, everything else that man
shall need for his comfort under his reign.
Four men ascend the mound in which these trees are planted to pluck
the fruit by handfuls and cast them to crowds of men who stand as
compacted as it would seem possible for them to live. Every throw is
instantly followed by a universal shout from the multitude and a rush
for the prize. And then they surge hither and thither like a forest
swayed by a mighty wind. The writer thinks he has seen ten thousand
men engaged at one time in this kind of sport. It takes but about
fifteen minutes to pluck all the fruit from these trees, and then the
game is over. It is a rare thing for a man to catch more than two or
three limes.
Still another mode of dispensing the royal gifts on such occasions is
to divide them into lots, with a slip of palm-leaf attached to each
lot and a copy of each on another slip, which, being rolled up or put
into the wooden ball or lime, is thrown out by the king to his favored
audience. He sometimes adopts a similar mode in dispensing his favors
to companies of the chief priests, taking care, of course, that only
such things as are suitable for priests are put into such lots.
Sundry Chinese, Malay and Siamese dramas and shadow-scenes are played,
and at early candlelight the _P’ramene_ is most brilliantly
illuminated within and without. About eight or nine o’clock in the
evening the fireworks are sent off, being occasionally ignited by the
king himself. You first hear the crackling of the matches, then you
see the sulphuric fire and smoke running up tall bamboo poles and
extending out into branches. Presently a dozen tall trees of fire
throw an intense light over all the premises. These quickly burn out,
and another flash brings into view beautiful fire-shrubbery. In a
minute or two they blossom roses, dahlias, oleanders and other flowers
of all hues, and the most beautiful, continually changing their colors
like the chameleon until they all fade out into darkness. You are
startled by the report of rockets sent up from various places in rapid
succession, a hundred or more, showing that the Siamese are not far
behind the times in this art. Immediately after this you will hear a
terrible roaring like the bellowing of a dozen elephants, with an
occasional crash like the bursting of a small engine-boiler. They are
the fireworks called _Chang rawng_, which means “bellowing elephants.”
Suddenly innumerable fire-birds begin chirping, buzzing, hopping and
flying in all directions. Some ascend high in the air and burst with a
small spluttering report. Mimic volcanic eruptions, attended with jets
of ignited sulphur and iron, ascending like waterspouts and falling in
showers of red-hot lava, are kept going until fifty or more have been
fired.
Before the burning of the body the golden urn containing the corpse is
removed from the top of the _Pra Bencha_, and the copper urn taken
out. This has an iron grating at the bottom overlaid with spices and
fragrant powders. All the precious articles with which the pyramid was
decorated are temporarily removed from it, and some eight or ten feet
of the upper part of it taken down to form a place of suitable
dimensions for the burning. Then the fragrant wood is laid in order in
cross layers on the platform, having a bellows attached to the pile.
Precious spices and fragrant articles, many in kind, are put among the
wood. A gunpowder match is laid from a certain part of the hall set
apart for the seat of the king, reaching to a spot made particularly
combustible in the pile of wood. These changes are made with
surprising rapidity.
All being ready, the king takes electric fire――which had been
preserved for such purposes for a long time――and touches it to the end
of the match at his feet. This kindles a flame in the midst of the
wood. Immediately the next in rank among the princes steps up and lays
his large wax candle, lighted from a lamp burning in the same
lightning fire, among the wood or on the top of it as seems to him
most convenient. The next prince in order of rank does the same, and
all the nobles and lords lay their wax candles among the wood. The
rank-order is soon lost in the hurry of the many who wish to
contribute their candles before it shall be too late. Hundreds of wax
candles, great and small, are laid on the wood ere the burning has
advanced too far to admit any more.
To prevent the flames from becoming too intense for the safety of the
_P’ramene_ and its appendages, strong men armed with long-handled
dippers are dashing water whenever and wherever required; there are
others armed with iron pokers, whose business it is to stir the fire
occasionally. The moment the wood is fired the funeral bands strike up
their dirges and the company of mourning women set up their wailing.
This continues only a few minutes. The time occupied in the burning is
not more than one hour.
[Illustration: TOMB OF A BONZE.]
The fire is extinguished before all the bones have been reduced to
ashes. A few of the remaining coals of the bones are carefully
collected and deposited in a neat and very precious gold urn. By the
time this is done the sun is set, and the _P’ramene_ is left in a
despoiled state until next morning. Nevertheless, the hall is lighted
and all the usual exercises go on through the night as before. Early
the next morning the _Pra Bencha_ pyramid is restored to its original
splendor and the little golden urn of precious coal is placed on its
summit.
All the ashes left by the burning are put in clean white muslin and
laid in a golden platter. They are then ceremoniously carried in state
to the royal landing, and, escorted by a procession of state barges,
attended by the funeral bands, carried down the river about a mile and
there committed to its waters.
The funeral obsequies of a king are continued three days after the
burning, and the ceremonies are almost the same as those in
anticipation of it until the last day. On that day a royal procession
is formed, somewhat like that of the first day, to bear the charred
remains in the little golden urn to a sacred depository of such relics
of the kings of Siam within the royal palace. Very soon after this the
servants of the king gather up all the articles which it is customary
to preserve for future funeral occasions――viz. the permanent gold and
silver stands, the golden canopy and the ornaments of the pyramid. But
the timber of which the _P’ramene_ and its appendages are made is
taken down and converted to other uses, usually the building of
Buddhist temples.[1]
FUNERALS AMONG THE PEOPLE.
These very costly funerals of the royal family and nobility are not
possible, of course, among the common people. The priests, however,
are generally sent for to attend the dying, and when there sprinkle
the suffering one with holy water, recite passages from their sacred
books and pronounce the name of Buddha repeatedly.
After death there is a season of weeping and wailing by the family,
and the body is then washed and wrapped tightly in white cloth. An urn
or wooden coffin covered with gilt paper and decorated with tinsel
flowers is brought, and the body placed therein.
Among the people the corpse is not kept long in the dwelling, and
instances have been known where the dying one was removed outside on
account of the superstitious fears of the family.
When the coffin is carried off, it is not through a door or window,
but a hole is cut in the bamboo wall, and sometimes the bearers run
around the house two or three times, lest the spirit should find its
way back and haunt the premises.
The cremation takes place in some temple-ground where there is a
permanent _P’ramene_. But occasionally the dying “make merit” by
bequeathing their dead body to the vultures. In such cases the flesh
is cut off with a knife and fed to these birds of prey, which haunt
the burning-localities in great numbers, and the bones only are
burned. Paupers and criminals are thus fed to the vultures or burned
without ceremony. All persons struck dead by lightning or carried off
suddenly by small-pox or cholera are first buried for some months, and
then dug up and burned.
The funerals of the wealthy last several days, and are connected with
feasting, fireworks and theatrical displays. The garb of mourning in
Siam is white, not black, and is accompanied with shaving of the heads
of all the immediate family and their servants.
CREMATION AT BEJREPUREE OF A MAN IN THE MIDDLE WALKS OF LIFE.
[From the _Bangkok Recorder_, May, 1866.]
The corpse was first to be offered to the vultures, a hundred or more.
Before the coffin was opened the filthy and horrible gang had
assembled, “for wheresoever the carcass is, there will the eagles
[vultures] be gathered together.” They were perched on the ridges of
the temple, and even on small trees and bushes within a few feet of
the body; and so greedy were they that the sexton and his assistants
had to beat them off many times before the coffin could be opened.
They seemed to know that there would be but a mouthful for each if
divided among them all, and that packs of greedy dogs were also in
waiting for their share.
The body was taken from the coffin and laid on a pile of wood that had
been prepared on a small temporary altar. Then the birds were allowed
to descend upon the corpse and tear it as they liked. For a while it
was quite hidden in the rush. But each bird, grabbing its part with
bill and claws, spread its wings and mounted to some quiet place to
eat.
The sexton seemed to think that he too was “making merit” by cutting
off parts of the body and throwing them to the hungry dogs, as the
dying man had done in bequeathing his body to these carrion-feeders.
The birds, not satisfied with what they got from the altar, came down
and quarreled with the curs for their share.
While this was going on the mourners stood waiting, with wax candles
and incense-sticks, to pay their last tribute of respect to the
deceased, by assisting in the burning of the bones after the vultures
and dogs had stripped them. The sexton, with the assistance of
another, gathered up the skeleton and put it back into the coffin,
which was lifted by four men and carried around the funeral pile three
times.
It was then laid on the pile of wood, and a few sticks were put into
the coffin to aid in burning the bones. Then a lighted torch was
applied to the pile, and the relatives and other mourners advanced and
laid each a wax candle by the torch. Others brought incense and cast
it on the pile.
The vultures, having had but a scanty breakfast, lingered about the
place until the fire had left nothing more for them, when they shook
their ugly heads, and, hopping a few steps to get up a momentum,
flapped their harpy wings and flew away.
CHAPTER XVII.
_THE WATS OF SIAM._
“On the pagoda-spire
The bells are swinging,
With their little golden circlets in a flutter
With tales the wooing winds have dared to utter,
Till all are ringing
As if a choir
Of golden-nested birds in heaven were singing;
And with a lulling sound
The music floats around,
And drops like balm into the drowsy ear.”――MRS. JUDSON.
A Siamese wat, instead of a single lofty pagoda, as often represented
in the pictures of Burmah, consists of a number of buildings scattered
about a large park-like enclosure. Let us in imagination visit such a
Buddhist temple connected with a monastery――say, one of the largest to
be found in any part of the world――in Bangkok.
Starting on such an expedition, at the entrance of the enclosure,
generally near the boat-landing on the river, you would find a large
garden or rest-house, called by the Burmese _zayat_ and by the Siamese
_sala_. This sala is made up of two or three open pavilions, according
to the size of the wat, erected as lounging-places for the inmates or
as resting-places for travelers. It is to the Siamese what the inn is
to the American or Englishman, and is often useful to our missionaries
in their tours about the country. To build a _sala_ is considered a
meritorious act by the Buddhists.
[Illustration: BANYAN TREE (_Ficus indica_).]
You pass the sala and enter an area, generally consisting of several
acres of ground, laid out with trees and ornamental shrubbery. Here
are shady walks, always hard and smooth, sometimes paved with marble;
fruit- and flower-gardens; not seldom artificial grottoes; pools with
fish and playing fountains; and miniature mountains. There is also one
large tree, claimed to be a shoot of the veritable tree under which
Shakyamuni sat when he attained to Buddha-ship――the sacred Bôdhi tree.
[Illustration: SIAMESE TEMPLE.]
“You may remark,” says Dr. Eitel, “that the tree before you is by no
means a _Ficus religiosa_, but a _Ficus indica_, or it may happen that
it is neither of the two, but a palm tree (most probably then the
_Borassus flabelliformis_); but the attendant priest who acts as your
guide will tell you nevertheless, with a bland smile, that it _is_ a
_Ficus religiosa_, and that only ignorant and wantonly skeptical
persons can have any doubt on the subject. Is there not a plate
erected at the foot of the tree stating that this tree grew out of a
shoot brought directly from the holy land, cut off the very Bôdhi tree
at Gâya?
“It is a remnant of the ancient tree-worship that almost every
religious sect of Asia has a sacred tree of its own. The Brahmans
revered the _Ficus indica_, for which Buddhism originally substituted
the _Ficus religiosa_. But in course of time the Buddhists either
reverted to the former tree or confounded the two. They were probably
led to do so by the intuitive apprehension that Buddhism as it grew
and spread singularly followed the mode of growth which is a
distinctive mark of the sacred tree of the Brahmans, the _Ficus
indica_. It is a peculiarity of the latter that it extends itself by
letting its branches droop and take root, planting nurseries of its
own, and thus so multiplying itself that a single tree forms a
curiously arched grove.
“This is precisely the way in which Buddhism propagated itself. It
germinated in India, but sent out branches south and north, each
taking root, and each perpetuating itself by further offshoots, whilst
the parent stock was gradually withered, and finally decayed. Buddhism
left but few traces behind in India, but it still lives in Ceylon and
in the offshoots of the Singhalese Church in Burmah, Siam and Pegu.
When Buddhism became almost totally extinct in India, the whole force
of its vitality seemed to throw itself northward, and it spread with
renewed vigor and widening shade over Cashmere and Nepaul to China and
Thibet. Chinese Buddhism threw forth new branches, northward into
Corea and Japan and southward over Cochin-China, Cambodia and Laos,
whilst Thibetan Buddhism pushed its branches into Mongolia, Mantchuria
and the greater part of Central Asia.
“Now, in each of these countries Buddhism established separate
churches, each having its own locally diversified life, its own
saplings, its own fruits, and yet all these many branches from one
grove connected with each other and the old withered parent stock in
India by a network of intertwining roots. Shivanism and Shananism,
which saturated and leavened the churches of the north to a very
considerable extent, now influenced the minds of Southern Buddhists.
They clung to the old traditions, retained the ancient dogma,
preserved their primitive monastic and ecclesiastical forms in languid
torpor, but with tolerable fidelity. Yet still, Burmese and Siamese
Buddhism under the influence of Brahmanism went so far as to
amalgamate with the Buddhist religious notions derived from the
primitive tree- and serpent-worship, which was a form of religion not
only prior to Buddhism, but indigenous in Burmah and Siam. The
consequence is, that practical Buddhist worship there is marked by the
prevalence of Brahmanic mythology.”
At the cremations, during plagues, epidemics and floods, our
missionaries tell us, more attention is given to spirit-worship than
to Buddhism proper. During the rice-planting and harvest the favor of
the spirits of the air, earth and water is sought. Spirit-offerings
may be found in the homes of the people, in the boats, fish-poles,
threshing-floors, and even hanging to the sacred Bô tree itself.
As you turn into the principal avenue of the grounds of a wat you will
be very apt to find figures of enormous stone griffins, representing
the demon kings of the four regions who guard the world against the
attacks of evil spirits; and crouching lions, stone emblems of
Shakyamuni (literally, “Shakya the lion”), who is, according to the
Buddhists, by his strength the king of the beasts, as he is by his
moral excellence the king of men.
[Illustration: TEMPLE AT AYUTHIA.]
On a sunny day you will find gathered in the area of the outer court a
motley assemblage of priests, boys and beggars, lazily basking in the
sun or engaged in various pursuits――chewing betel-nut, smoking,
gambling or playing chess; which latter is much the same game as our
own, only the powers of the pieces are more restricted. If it should
happen to be a Siamese holy day, a busy multitude of all ages and both
sexes, men, women and children, will be passing to and fro, carrying
offerings to the temple or going to hear Buddhist preaching.
[Illustration: MONASTERY OF WAT SISAKET.]
Let us examine the buildings more closely. Passing the first, possibly
the second, court, you reach by a flight of steps the wide terrace on
which stands the principal temple or idol-house. This court is
surrounded by a quadrangular row of cloisters; handsome jars filled
with lotus and other plants surround the temple. This is only a large
Siamese hall, built of brick thickly coated with white plaster, which
at a little distance gives it the appearance of marble. The pyramidal
roof, in vertical stages, turns up at the extremities in great horns,
and is resplendent with glazed red, green and yellow tiles. The roofs,
gable-ends, doors and windows (without glass) are of solid timber,
covered in a bewildering way with intricately-cut cornices,
intersecting mouldings and fantastic embellishments of grotesque human
and animal figures, elaborately carved and heavily gilded――an art in
which the Siamese have considerable skill. The large square room
within is ornamented with painted paper representing scenes taken from
Buddhist mythology or horrible mediæval-like pictures of their
_inferno_, or series of hells.
[Illustration: BRASS IDOL IN A TEMPLE AT BANGKOK.]
Entering this building, you see an altar, generally eight or ten
shelves high, tapering to a gilded point. It contains many-sized
figures of Buddha in the sitting posture, together with a gaudy
display of wax candles, incense-tapers, gold and silver tinsel
ornaments, offerings of fruit and flowers. Possibly some priests in
yellow robes, with burning candles, are chanting monotonous liturgies;
more probably, however, no priests are seen, but only people coming
and going with gifts to this dead god Buddha. Step nearer. Do not fear
to disturb their devotions. Instead of the decorum usual in Christian
churches, the votaries are social, and even noisy――one moment
prostrate before the altar, the next singing an idle song. Men
smoking, women mixing freely with the crowd, neither veiled nor shy.
They are the most assiduous in the religious performances, going about
sprinkling the images with perfumes and offering oblations of lighted
incense-rods, fresh lotus and other flowers, chaplets or artificial
flowers, fruits, and clothes of various descriptions. Children three
years old go through with their prostrations before the images with
great composure and gravity.
Each country professing Buddhism appears to adopt its own idea as to
the shape of its images. Those of Siam have an attenuated figure,
comporting with our associations of the ascetic. These images have a
complacent, sleepy look, the long ears resting on the shoulders, the
fingers and toes of equal length. The best images are of bronze or
brass, one large brass idol of Bangkok being a perfect giant in size.
There are also silver and plate-gold idols, but the more numerous are
a composite of plaster, resin and oil mixed with hair, and, after the
figure is shaped, covered with varnish, upon which is laid a thick
coat of gilding. Into the composition of the great “sleeping idol” of
Bangkok were put thousands of bushels of lime, molasses, quick-silver
and other materials, at a cost of several thousand dollars. These
idols are not only in the temples, but everywhere――on mountain-tops
and caves and in the homes of the people.
In the famous Wat P’hra Keäu (the private temple of the royal family
within the palace enclosure, and connecting by a secret passage with
the most private apartments of His Majesty’s harem) is perhaps the
finest specimen of an altar. It is at least sixty feet high, tapering
to a golden spire. The shelves are loaded with rare and costly
specimens of Siamese, Chinese and European art――idols covered with
plate gold, solid silver vases of beautiful workmanship, golden
candlesticks, marble statuary, ivory ornaments, clocks, garments
studded with precious stones; crowning all, the beautiful emerald idol
flashing with a molten mass of diamonds, sapphires and other gems.
This cross-legged statue of Buddha, one foot high and eight inches
wide at the knees, is of great value and antiquity.
The kings and nobles of Siam spend large sums on their temples and
idols. There are between one and two hundred temples in the city of
Bangkok alone. Several cost one hundred thousand dollars, and it is
estimated that the Wat P’hra Keäu, with its lofty gilded roof, rich
carvings, fine paintings and floor paved with diamond-shaped bricks of
polished brass, cost nearly a million dollars.
Such expensive temples and monstrous images are built not only to
impress and awe the people, but to make a large amount of merit. _Tam
boon_, or “merit-making,” is, after all, the sum and substance of
Siamese Buddhism. The words are on the lips of young and old, rich and
poor, almost every hour of the day. They are anxious to make all the
merit possible, believing that their pilgrimage through the forms of
animal life and the duration of their purgatorial existence in the
several Buddhist hells is the result of _Karma_――_i. e._ merit and
demerit. Speaking of the future, the Siamese always say, “_Tam boon,
tam kam_”――“according to merit or demerit.”
The king makes merit when he builds a costly temple or goes on his
yearly tour to distribute presents among the priests of the royal
wats. The pauper makes merit when with a broom of small twigs he
sweeps the dead leaves from the temple-grounds. The old man makes
merit when with painful difficulty he urges his palsied limbs to the
wat, and there bows in the temple before an image of Buddha till his
forehead touches the floor. The housewife who takes the last mouthful
of rice from her hungry husband to feed some lazy priest makes merit.
The infant makes merit when the mother, holding its tiny hand in hers,
guides the fingers in forming the wax taper that is used in worship.
[Illustration: THE GREAT TOWER OF THE PAGODA WAT CHEUG.]
Pagodas, or sacred spires――detached pyramidal piles of solid masonry,
frequently reaching a great height――are always found in connection
with the Siamese temples. These are supposed to contain some relic of
Buddha, and are sacred to his memory. The most remarkable pagoda of
Siam is that in the extensive grounds of the Wat Cheug, opposite the
royal palace in Bangkok. Bell-shaped and about two hundred feet high,
every inch of its irregular surface is encrusted over with colored and
glazed ornamentation, consisting largely of grotesque human and animal
figures, while from each projection to the very needle-point of the
spire hang little bells, a tiny golden wing attached to their tongues
to catch the passing breeze, and all day long thousands of tinkling,
silvery voices,
“As if a choir
Of golden-nested birds in heaven were singing,”
fill the air with sweet, weird music.
[Illustration: BUDDHIST PRIEST.]
Each wat has also its chapel, or preaching-hall. On the feasts or
sacred days crowds of women flock to hear some favorite priest read
_Bana_. One day a missionary stopped to rest among the shady groves of
a wat, and, hearing the voice of one reading, he entered. Out of a
congregation of fifty he found only two men. This is what he saw: A
yellow-robed priest seated on his high pedestal in the centre, in one
hand a fan to keep his eyes from wandering to things carnal, in the
other a palm-leaf book, from which he read sentences of the Buddhist
scriptures, written in the Pali, in a monotonous tone, occasionally
adding an explanation in Siamese. Before him burned a wax taper. His
congregation, seated in a circle on the floor, reverently listened
with downcast eyes, their palms joined and heads bowed till the elbows
rested on the ground, though much of the service was in an unknown
tongue: “Blessed is he who heareth the law.” So, reverently listening
to the words spoken, they believe themselves blest, nor would they
consider the merit any greater if they understood the preacher.
Occasionally, however, there are priests who preach intelligibly to
attentive hearers. Ordinary popular preaching is simply extracts from
the traditional life and transmigrations of the last Buddha. The facts
of his history are briefly, as set forth in the Buddhist writings, as
follows:
Gautama, the last and greatest of the seven Buddhas, had appeared on
this earth at least five hundred and fifty times (working his way up
from the lowest forms of existence, and always exhibiting absolutely
self-denying charity) before he was finally born a son of the rajah of
Magadha. According to the Ceylon tradition, he would be nearly
contemporary with the prophet Daniel, as their sacred writings place
his death in 543 B. C. From this period the sacred era of Siam is
dated. This young prince fled from his royal father, and, forsaking
rank and wife and child, became first a hermit. Later he wandered, in
a course of open-air preaching, through the length and breadth of
India, and, Southern Buddhists claim, even to Ceylon. By the force of
his irresistible eloquence he founded a new sect. Fanatics of all
ranks, taking on themselves voluntary vows of chastity and poverty,
left their families to follow in his footsteps. He begged from door to
door, taught the vanity of life, the terrors of transmigration and of
the purgatorial hells, and claimed that his noble fourfold path was
the only salvation from this dizzy round of birth and death; that
Nirvana――or in Siamese _Nipan_――was the haven of final rest. He
therefore urged his disciples of all ages and ranks to turn from other
pursuits and devote themselves by a course of meditation, crucifixion
of desire and meritorious acts exclusively to this one object――the
attainment of Nipan. After forty-five years of such teaching it is
claimed he passed into Nipan. Henceforth, for centuries, he has been
held up as the Pure One (_Arahang_), and worshiped as the Buddha.
Hence the confession of faith of a devout Buddhist is, “I take refuge
in Buddha”――meaning that as the sage during all these hundreds of
births distinguished himself by a self-sacrificing charity and acts of
merit, denying and conquering all the natural appetites and desires,
so the disciple bases his system of morals and his hopes of the future
on the life and precepts of the founder. “Imitate Buddha; accept his
ideas of life; renounce family relations, property, the carnal desires
and passions,”――this is the one theme of Buddhist preaching.
In Christian lands we speak of “the preaching of the cross;” so the
Buddhist, adopting the _wheel_ as symbolic of the weary rounds of
transmigration, speaks of “turning the wheel of doctrine” as most
expressive of the Buddhist idea of salvation――rest or Nipan.
Heretofore, preaching-halls have been bare within, but the present
king has lately built a beautiful Gothic chapel after the most
approved modern style――stained glass windows, an altar, pews for the
congregation, and something that has the appearance of a grand organ,
with great pipes running to the ceiling, but, alas! a niche in each
pipe filled with a small idol, and a much larger one on the altar.
Still, the departure from old customs shows His Majesty’s desire for
improvement.
Besides the preachings given in wat-chapels, private services are held
by the Siamese monks at houses of nobles or some wealthy citizens by
special request. The object is to give the host and his family an
occasion to make extra merit.
Each wat has also its library, containing the sacred books or Buddhist
scriptures. These are in the immediate charge of the priests, and are
regarded as the most holy portion of the wat. You will certainly be
expected to remove your shoes at the door. Siamese libraries are not
what we associate with the word. The Wat P’hra Keäu library is matted
with silver wire. In the centre is a large pyramidal chest of ebony
inlaid with mother-of-pearl, answering for our shelves, where the
books are kept. Most libraries have plainer chests or closets much in
the same style. Their collection of sacred books forms a library it
would take many men to carry. When a Siamese understands that
Christianity is intended to supersede Buddhism, his tendency is to
despise the smallness of our Bible as compared with his own sacred
canon. Besides, he can produce no mean list of excellent moral
precepts, and thinks the miracles of Buddha no whit behind those of
the Bible.
The Siamese received their sacred canon from Ceylon. This is the very
earliest compilation that history can point out. It was partly reduced
to writing, after being handed down orally for several generations,
about 93 A. D., and the whole was first compiled and fixed in writing
412 to 432 A. D.
If on a visit to such a library our guide proves to be that _rara
avis_, an intelligent Buddhist priest of the reform party (among whom
the late king was the prominent leader), he would tell you, as one of
the head-priests explained to Mr. Caswell, “Here are two piles of
books. The first contains the instructions of Buddha; the second
contains the writings of eminent teachers of Buddhism who lived in
ancient times. The first pile our party receive as authority in
religion; the second we compare with the first; so far as it disagrees
we reject it.” In answer to an inquiry if they found much to reject in
the second pile, the priest said, “Yes, much,” and mentioned one whole
set of more than five hundred volumes rejected.
Under the influence of these reformers, so far back as 1844, the king
of Siam despatched an embassy to Ceylon to make further religious
researches in that primitive nursery of their faith. These liberal
views continued to spread, following the introduction of printed and
scientific works by our missionaries; the more intelligent nobles and
priests discovered errors in the geography, geology, and especially
astronomy, which necessitated the discarding of much formerly held
sacred. Here was planted the germ of disintegration now busily at work
undermining this gigantic system of atheism. The confidence of many is
shaken in the ethical teachings of sacred books so full of
intellectual and moral despair.
But examine this Buddhist collection: see how unlike our books. Here
is a bundle of palm-leaf slips from a foot to eighteen inches long and
two to three inches broad, filed by strings strung through each end.
Notice the richly-gilded edges. Do not these strange characters
recall the dots and dashes and curious hieroglyphics of our
telegraph-operators? These sacred writings are engraved with an iron
style, and black powder is rubbed in to make the impression distinct.
After finishing your examination the priest wraps them with reverent
care in silk or muslin and returns them to the central ark or closet
already described.
Sometimes in the wat library studious priests are found sitting on the
floor, each with his book resting on a low reading-stool or desk
before him, but they will probably feign not to notice us. Some high
priests have fine private collections, including, of late years,
English and French standard works.
Ordinary Siamese books are written on stiff paper prepared with black
paste to receive impressions from a stone pencil. These are about a
foot broad and several feet long, folded zigzag to form pages about
three inches deep. When one side is filled the sheet is turned and the
subject continued on the reverse side. Some of these books are fully
illustrated with colored plates. The characters are written from right
to left, and almost all Siamese composition, except letter-writing, is
metrical. Outside of the sacred writings the literature is meagre,
consisting mainly of chronicles of their own and neighboring
countries, dialogues, low plays and inferior romances――usually war or
love adventures borrowed from remote and largely fabulous chronicles
of their early history: the favorite topic of all is the mythological
exploits of the Hindoo god Rama.
But a Siamese wat is not merely a place of worship; most of all it is
a monastery. You will find it worth while to glance at the dormitories
of the priests. There are often several hundred inmates in a large
wat. The ordinary priests and novitiates have usually rows of little
cells, almost bare of furniture except the coverlets and pillows and
mosquito-nets for sleeping. In others there are neat whitewashed brick
buildings scattered around the grounds, putting you in mind of little
English cottages. The houses of the abbot and prior are larger. If you
call, possibly their apartments may not seem in accord with the
primitive simplicity enjoined by the rules of their order on Buddhist
priests. Some head-priests now-a-days have foreign furniture,
pictures, clocks and other _articles de luxe_, and pride themselves on
owning a fairly representative modern library and scientific
instruments.
Properly, a Buddhist monk possesses in his own right eight
articles――viz. three robes, a girdle, an alms-bowl, a razor, a needle
and a water-strainer, this last that he may not unwittingly in
drinking destroy animal life. All other articles accepted in charity
are supposed to be received on behalf of the chapter. The Siamese monk
must observe strict celibacy, refrain from all secular avocations and
eat no solid food after the sun has passed the meridian. Priests are
easily recognized by their yellow robes and shaven heads. In going
about they usually feign indifference to all temporal concerns by
walking with measured pace, apparently noticing nothing.
There is no hereditary priesthood. Any male enters a wat at his
pleasure, and leaves it without reproach to return to secular life: if
married, however, he must be divorced before entering. Every man is
expected to spend more or less time in the priesthood, and according
to law no one can serve the government until he has done so. Little
boys are put into the wats as pupils at a very early age (for each wat
is more or less of a public school), and when they have learned to
read and write they are ready to put on the yellow robes; so they grow
up to manhood, and often to middle age, amid surroundings only
calculated to make them idle and frequently vicious men.
There are certain special months for entering and for leaving the
priesthood. The shortest period is three months. During this portion
of the year the number is much larger, as many leave after a very
short stay. The ceremonies of ordination are simple, consisting in the
tonsure of the candidate, prayers repeated by the priest, bathing with
holy water and assuming the yellow robe――something like the old Roman
tunic in shape, with a scarf thrown over the shoulders. Such services
are accompanied by the distribution of largess to the priests and the
poor――but chiefly to the former――and often by prolonged feasting. To
defray the expenses of ordinations is considered an act of merit, and
every Siamese spends as much for this purpose as his means will allow.
Women make merit by weaving and staining the yellow robes freely
distributed on such occasions.
It is the duty of priests to ordain others as priests; to consecrate
idols and temples; to assist in wedding and funeral rites; to read the
Pali hymns and prayers (of which he acquires at least a parrot
knowledge); and to instruct the boys entrusted to his supervision.
There are also the _Nains_, or novices, too young to take full orders.
Every superior priest has special disciples, who look to him for
counsel, prostrate themselves on entering his presence, and otherwise
evince profound respect, almost adoration.
In Bangkok alone there are thousands of priests dependent on charity
for daily bread. The Buddhist code makes no distinction between prince
and peasant in the priesthood. All must eat only what has been given
in alms, and when in health each is expected to carry around the
alms-bowl. This is slung from the neck and covered with the robe,
except when alms are received. It is estimated that it costs Siam
twenty-five million dollars annually to keep up this immense army of
priestly mendicants and religious ceremonials.
[Illustration: BUDDHIST PRIESTS GATHERING FOOD.]
The majority of priests readily acknowledge mercenary motives for
assuming the yellow robe. “The wats are more comfortable than our
dwellings,” they say. “Disciples paddle our canoes; our food and
clothes are given us; we are not required to work. Before we became
priests the people looked upon us as vagabonds; now they almost
worship us.” Yet in most instances the only change is the shaven head
and yellow robe and the alms-bowl. Some Buddhist monks are devout,
spending their lives in wats, or in forests and caves as hermits,
meditating on the virtues of Buddha and striving to attain Nipan. Over
these exceptional studious and moral monks Buddhism doubtless exerts a
restraining influence, yet even such lives are dreary, and manifest
little zeal constraining to efforts for national reform.
The ceremonial details of wat-life are monotonous. Monks rise at
daybreak. At about seven the streets of Bangkok are crowded with these
yellow-robed gentry paddled around with their rice-bowls from door to
door. At eight they return to breakfast in a large hall, which, with
the kitchen and its enormous rice-boilers, is worthy of a passing
look. The last meal of the day is taken before noon. Priests are
supposed to devote themselves to meditation and study, but the
majority are illiterate and often vicious――“idleness personified.”
About sunset, assembled for united prayer, their loud singsong drawl
can be heard some distance off. The beating of a drum closes the
wat-day.
Each chapter is under the direction of a chief priest, and the larger
ones have a sort of second chief priest. Their authority is confined
to reproof, and in extreme cases to expulsion. They can only enforce
the rules of the order.
Wats built by the royal family or nobility are called _Wat Hluang_, or
“royal wats.” The wats of the people are _Wat Ratsadom_. Church and
State are one. The king is supreme in religion as in the government,
and appoints two hierarchs――one for the north and one for the south.
The title of this high priest is Pra Sang Karat, and he resides in one
of the chief wats, and has no spiritual or temporal authority except
over the wats and monks. He has an assistant second only in rank. No
priest is qualified to ordain without a license from the Sang Karat.
Then come the Somdet Chows, from whom the head-priests of the royal
wats are chosen――the abbots of the great monasteries, I suppose we
would call them. The Tananookans, one of whom assists each
head-priest, are next in clerical rank. The head-priests of the common
people’s wats are called Sompans. Lastly come the mass of ordinary
priests, among whom there are Palats and other minor officers, who
take a certain rank above the ordinary brotherhood. The _Nains_, or
novitiates, are not included in the above classes, though they too don
the yellow robes, shave their heads and fast as their elders. A lad
must be at least eight years old and receive the consent of his
parents before becoming a priest. He usually begins his connection
with the wat as a pupil, living for some years under the care of some
priest who is a friend of the family.
Worldly concerns connected with wats are in the hands of secular
attendants clad in white, who also perform the menial services about
the grounds and at funerals. We would call them sextons.
Nuns are not numerous in Siam. The profession does not command
respect. The people look upon it as a more respectable mode of
begging. Those who take such vows are mostly poor old women, who wear
white and live in humble huts near, but not within, the wat-grounds.
When the king pays his annual visit to the royal wats, on entering the
temple he takes off his shoes, then, lifting his hands containing the
offerings above his head, he bows low before the image of Buddha. He
concludes by making similar obeisance to the superior priests and
bestowing the customary gifts. The chief priests and monks sit unmoved
during the ceremony.
No one can be long in Siam without being astonished at the large part
which the wat occupies as a social centre in the every-day life of the
people. The Siamese traveler rests in the salas. You meet a Siamese
woman and ask where she is going; the probability is she is on her
road to some temple to make merit with her offerings or by listening
to preaching. Go to the priests’ quarters, and you find there not only
a large proportion of the fathers, brothers and older sons, but mere
children of seven and eight years old. The bodies of the dead are
carried there to be burned. The people also frequently meet together
at the different temples to make feasts and give presents to their
priests.
The wats outside of Bangkok, though the buildings are generally of
cheaper construction, occupy delightful sites and have extensive
grounds. Dr. McFarland, going to Petchaburee, stopped at the sala of a
country wat. “We found the grounds,” he says, “crowded with men and
boys in great excitement, evidently awaiting some unusual occurrence.
Presently boats began to arrive and unload their treasures of fruit
and depart, perhaps for more. Before our company had all finished
their breakfast we found it difficult to keep our place at the
landing. We were told that this was a _lakon_. This immense gathering
of fruits and other offerings is presented with ceremonies of music
and dancing to their god, and afterward the priests stow it away and
feast upon it for many days to come. Thus spending the day in
amusement, at the same time they make merit for the future. Some
things in this heathen ceremony reminded the missionary of the county
fairs he had attended in the West, crowds of people――men, women and
children――in their richest apparel, bringing their choicest fruit and
most valuable articles, but not for exhibition; they come to spend the
day in frolic and offer their fruits to a heathen deity.”
The Siamese wat embodies “a theory which extracted and remodeled the
best ideas of ancient Brahmanism――a religion that has not only been
able to subsist for more than two thousand years, but which has drawn
within the meshes of its own peculiar church organization, and brought
more or less under the influence of its peculiar tenets, fully
one-third of the human race. Such a system ought to have enough
importance in our eyes to deserve something more than passing or
passive attention.”
This study of a Siamese wat gives us the practical aspects of this
much-vaunted creed in the hands of the common people, proving that the
influence of these great centres of classic Buddhism hinders the
material prosperity and dwarfs the intellectual and moral development
of the nation. Allowing full credit for its good precepts, the visitor
who closely studies the actual outworkings of the Buddhist wat finds a
worship that degrades; alms-giving that floods the land with sturdy,
lazy beggars; a monastic system that encourages violation of the
sacred family ties; and in not a few instances hotbeds of vice for the
most promising youth of the kingdom.
But Buddhism is losing ground in Siam. One of the earliest signs of
progress was a royal order years ago which reduced the vast number of
inmates of the wats. On the eve of war with Cochin-China the king,
wishing to draw a large number of soldiers, found multitudes had taken
refuge in the priesthood. A set of questions was therefore drawn up,
and notice given that all priests who failed to pass a satisfactory
examination were to be degraded and sent to war at the king’s
pleasure. Thousands were frightened from their cool, costly wats back
to their bamboo huts. It is said four hundred deserted a single wat in
less than a week.
Moreover, in the late zeal for reform some principal festivals have
been given up. The wat-visitations are now mostly looked upon as
national gala-days for popular display, lively music, theatricals and
boat-races. The present building of temples and religious ceremonials
are far more largely from motives of pride and political expediency
than matters of faith. The present king and many of the younger nobles
are too enlightened to be devout Buddhists.
Two significant signs may be noted to show the change. “We came,” says
a late traveler in Siam, “to the Wat Sah Kate pagoda, situated in a
vast enclosure, containing, after the usual arrangement, two or three
temples, with huge gilt images of Buddha within, a large building for
preaching, the dwellings of the priests and many pavilions for the use
of worshipers; but the grounds were in a very dilapidated state. The
king had recently turned adrift all the priests, several hundred of
them, to earn an honest living by hard work, and so the wat was closed
to the public.” The other fact is equally hopeful――a new interest on
the part of the rulers of the land in the education of the young.
Until recently the Siamese kings have spent comparatively little on
public works which are common to other countries of Asia――bridges,
roads, schools and hospitals――but lavished their treasures on the
wats. But a recent letter mentions the latest _in memoriam_ of a
Buddhist princess: “I wish much I could get you a good photograph of
the new school-building, the one that is being erected to the memory
of the late queen. As it approaches completion it is looking very
handsome, and might be a beautiful tribute to the memory of a queen of
a much more civilized country.”
[Illustration: RUINS OF A TEMPLE AND STATUE OF BUDDHA AT AYUTHIA.]
PART III.
HISTORICAL SKETCHES.
CHAPTER XVIII.
_HISTORICAL SKETCH OF SIAM._
Of immense advantage to the Buddhist faith, and equally an obstacle to
the development of any other religion, is the fact that Siamese
history, on being traced back beyond the middle of the fourteenth
century, becomes chaotic and obscure, affording abundant opportunity
to the priests to fabricate any ingenious theories which they may
desire. By a splendid piece of flattery they have taught the Siamese
sovereigns that they are lineal descendants of Buddha, and that the
people themselves have sprung from his first disciples. Thus ruler and
people are alike interested in the support of a religious system which
is identified with their own origin. Through all the early periods of
their history the miracles of Buddha are interspersed with a lavish
hand. Ancient matrimonial alliances of the Siamese princes with all
other leading monarchs of the world, and imposing embassies and
fabulous wars with neighboring countries, and no end of marvelous
legends of a mythological character, are also woven into the doubtful
narrative.
The best historian that the country has had was the late king, father
of the present ruler, who, owing to a usurpation of his rightful
sovereignty by an elder and illegitimate brother, was led to spend
some years in a Buddhist monastery, where he gave himself to study and
became, under the circumstances, a rather remarkable scholar.
According to his authority, King Tuang as early as A. D. 457
introduced the Siamese alphabet, which he handed over to a conclave of
Buddhist priests. His reign was distinguished by the possession of a
white elephant with black tusks!――a very important fact from a Siamese
point of view.
Authentic history, however, begins with A. D. 1350, from which date
the succession of kings is directly traced. The ancient capital of
Ayuthia, which was then established, occupied the site of a still more
ancient ruined city. There had been frequent wars with the Laos and
the princes of Pegu, involving an obscure succession of dynasties.
For about two hundred years the kingdom enjoyed peace, and Ayuthia
became a great and wealthy capital. In 1556, however, the king of Pegu
again conquered the country, though upon the death of the king the
Siamese princes, to whom the throne properly belonged, regained the
power.
About the middle of the seventeenth century the country received a
great impulse in civilization from a Greek merchant, Constantine
Faulkon, who through skill and success in business and his general
public spirit, became a great favorite of the king and his court, and
who seems to have devoted himself to the introduction of European
improvements of every kind. He received from the king the highest
titles, with great power and influence. Under his direction forts were
built on the banks of the Menam and new palaces were erected. He also
built a church, the ruins of which still exist. He greatly improved
the canal system, which is almost as important to Bangkok and Lower
Siam as that of Holland is to it. Aqueducts were constructed also for
supplying the city with water from the neighboring mountains. At
length, becoming an object of envy on the part of Siamese officials,
he was assassinated.
In 1759 the king of Burmah with an immense army laid siege to Ayuthia,
which, after two years, was compelled to surrender. The king was
slain, and a long struggle followed, after which, in 1767, the
Burmese, having gained complete possession of the country, appointed a
king of Peguan origin to hold the sceptre. By this time the country
was full of armed bands of outlaws, who, like the Saxons under the
Norman Conquest, proved irrepressible, and after the withdrawal of the
Burmese army anarchy bore sway.
AN AMBITIOUS CHINAMAN ON THE SIAMESE THRONE.
Among the leaders of these robber-bands was a shrewd and valiant
Chinaman bearing the name of Pin Tat. This man, at the time
thirty-three years of age and of unbounded ambition, rose by a series
of military and civil promotions to the very highest influence. What
his sword could not achieve in battle his _finesse_ and bribery
completed. Betraying the high trusts reposed in him, and gathering to
his standard all available robbers and pirates, he was enabled to
dictate terms to the government until he gained possession of all the
northern districts. He then marched with a large force against the
Burmese governor of Bangkok, whom he surprised and put to death,
availing himself of his treasures as his “sinews of war.”
He was now strong enough to overcome the Burmese at every point; and
so thoroughly did he succeed in ridding the country from their
thraldom that he won the gratitude of the people, who gladly favored
his assumption of royal authority. He displayed great genius in the
administration of affairs, colonized and rebuilt the devastated
districts of the country, and, profiting by a sanguinary war between
China and Burmah, conquered new territory on the north. It was during
his reign that the Siamese power was extended far down the Malay
Peninsula, whose governor he captured, and finally, through a
matrimonial alliance with his daughter, placed him in power as a
tributary. This remarkable Chinaman, after a reign of fifteen years
under the title of Phya-Jak, sank into a state of melancholy, and was
assassinated in 1782.
In the early part of the present century the English endeavored to
negotiate a treaty with Siam, but with little success, and it was not
until 1826 that negotiations in that direction were crowned with
success. It was soon after that the first Protestant missions were
established. We find Dr. Gutslaf in Bangkok in 1828, where he finished
the translation of the New Testament into Siamese. In 1830 he
revisited Siam, and translated a part of the Scriptures into the
languages of Cambodia and the Laos. The American Baptists founded
their mission to the Chinese in Siam soon after. The Presbyterian
mission was founded in 1840, and that of the American Board (since
discontinued) in 1850.
The Roman Catholics had gained a footing previous to 1780, but in that
year they were expelled on pain of death. They gradually reappeared.
In 1851 the illegitimate brother of the late king, who had usurped his
power as related above, died, and the rightful prince, Chao Phra,
ascended the throne under the name of Somdet Phra. His taste for
learning led him also to adopt a more enlightened policy with respect
to other nations. The French Catholic bishop Pallegoix at once
addressed to him a letter of congratulation, and presented him with a
portrait of Napoleon III., then President of the French Republic. In
return for this courtesy the king revoked the decree of banishment
against the Catholics, and in 1852 sent voluntary messengers to
Napoleon and to the pope. To the latter he sent an autograph letter
_written in English_. At the same time this enlightened king employed
an English governess to instruct his children. The progressive
character of the present king is undoubtedly due in part to the
influences under which his education was conducted.
The French have continued to exert considerable influence, perhaps the
English still more, while for the Americans the king has expressed his
respect more fully than for any others.
Not one half century ago Siam was sealed against the entrance of all
foreigners, whether as traders or missionaries. To-day she is in
treaty relation with all Christian countries, and the present king
desires that these treaty relations shall be most faithfully observed.
In the city of Bangkok there are large business-houses conducted by
foreign merchants. The flags of all countries float over the city.
Steam rice-mills are developing rice-culture: steam saw-mills are
creating a large trade in valuable lumber. Foreigners are also
beginning to erect steam-mills in other parts of the land. Good
inducements are offered to foreigners to enter the various departments
of trade, and full protection is given.
The king of Siam has been classed among the most humane and liberal of
heathen monarchs. He has manifested his desire in many ways for the
improvement of his country and people. Near his palace in Bangkok may
be found a large substantial building known as the “Royal Mint,”
furnished with improved machinery from Europe. It furnishes beautiful
copper coins, a good substitute for the little shells and pieces of
lead used as money a few years ago; also handsome silver coins, a
decided improvement on the round, bullet-shaped silver coins of the
last reign. Near this mint may be found comfortable barracks for the
royal soldiers, and near this the Royal Museum, containing much of
interest from the countries of the world. This institution has an
educational influence, for its doors are open a few days in each year
to all the people in the kingdom.
The king has also short telegraph-lines, and is now surveying and
negotiating for telegraphic communication with the outside world. A
line is proposed over to British Burmah, and another over to Saigon in
French Cochin-China.
The king has also issued an order for a postal system [since carried
into effect]. In the mandate are these words: “His Majesty the king
observes that the commerce of the capital and provinces of Siam is
greatly in excess of former times, and that whatever is a means of
advancing the happiness and prosperity of the people will tend to the
national glory. His Majesty has determined to foster the commerce and
welfare of the people, that they shall be ever progressive.” Orders
have been issued for directories, numbers on houses, etc., etc. We may
therefore hope that Siam will soon be in the postal union of the world
and abreast with the age.
In 1882, Siam had its centennial celebration of the establishment of
Bangkok as capital. The king in his annual speech, made the previous
October, said: “The exhibition will be given so that the people may
observe the difference between the methods used to earn a living one
hundred years ago and those now used, and see what progress has been
made, and note the plants and fruits useful for trade and the improved
means of living. We believe this exhibition will be beneficial to the
country.”
The king also desires the education of Siam’s people, as manifest in
his establishing a college under the guidance of one of our
missionaries as minister of public instruction. A general educational
system may be expected.
THE BANGKOK CENTENNIAL.
Miss Mary Hartwell of Bangkok describes the centennial anniversary of
the establishment of the present dynasty and of that city as the
capital. These two events were celebrated by an exhibition in which
was shown the progress made during the century in the various arts and
manufactures:
“Nothing in the late Siamese Exposition was more significant than its
school-exhibit. The Royal College was solicited to make an exhibit
representing the work done in the school. This consisted chiefly of
specimens of writing in Siamese and English, translations and
solutions of problems in arithmetic, the school-furniture, the
text-books used, and the various helps employed in teaching, such as
the microscope, magnets, electric batteries, etc. The Siamese mind is
peculiarly adapted to picking up information by looking at things and
asking questions, and it is believed that this exhibit will not only
enhance the reputation of the college, but give the Siamese some new
ideas on the subject of education.
[Illustration: ATTACHÉ OF SIAMESE EMBASSY: COURT COSTUME IN 1883.]
“Miss Olmstead and I, together with our assistant, Ma Tuen, have been
training little fingers in fancy-work, or rather overseeing the
finishing up of things, to go into the exhibition. April 25 we placed
our mats, tidies, afghans, rugs, cushions, needle-books, edgings,
work-bags and lambrequins in the cases allotted to our school in the
Queen’s Room, and on the 26th we were again at our post as exhibitors
to receive His Majesty the king and give him our salutations upon his
first entrance at the grand opening. While we were looking for him in
one direction he suddenly entered from another, followed by his
brothers and other members of his court and the consular dignitaries.
We did not see him until he had walked up the long and magnificent
hall and was within half a dozen paces of us. He was dressed in a
perfectly-fitting suit of navy-blue broadcloth, without any gaudy
trappings, and never did he wear a more becoming suit. His face was
radiant with joy, and his quick, elastic step soon brought him to us.
He uttered an exclamation of pleasure at seeing us there, shook our
hands most cordially, took a hasty survey of our exhibits, and then
cried out with boyish enthusiasm, ‘These things are beautiful, mem;
did you make them?’――‘Oh no,’ I responded; ‘we taught the children,
and they made them.’――‘Have you many scholars?’ was his next
question.――‘About thirty-one,’ I answered. Turning again to the cases,
he exclaimed emphatically, ‘They are beautiful things! and I am coming
back to look at them carefully――am in haste now.’ And off he went to
look at the other unviewed departments. Since then we see by the paper
published in Bangkok that His Majesty has paid the girls’ school of
Bangkok the high compliment of declaring himself the purchaser of the
collection, and has attached his name to the cases.
“The centennial is voted a success by all. There are fifty-four
departments, and each is handsomely arranged, reflecting great credit
upon the Siamese. The Queen’s Room is the richest and grandest of all.
It is devoted to the royal jewels――that is, all such as are owned and
worn by the queen and princesses; clothing made of gold-lace cloth and
gold-embroidered cloth of heavier but fine texture; embroidery on
satin, such as cushions, curtains and bed-spreads; embroidery in
worsteds; vessels of gold, silver and a combination of gold and
copper, fine carved work in ivory and artificial flowers of gold and
silver. The royal jewels are arranged on a pyramid about ten feet high
and shut in by a glass cover. The whole is placed under a pagoda of
bright blue, trimmed with white, which spreads out over it, but does
not hide the jewels. The latter consist of rings, anklets, bracelets,
ear-jewels and necklaces. The collection of these diamonds, emeralds
and other precious stones is valued at five million dollars, to say
nothing of the gold lunch-baskets eighteen inches in height and as
much or more in circumference, the solid gold soup-dishes and ladles,
the tea-pots, betel-trays, meat-dishes and a thousand other things
made of the same precious materials, and many of silver also. This
magnificence is beyond description in such narrow limits as a letter.
Scarlet and gold are freely mingled in cloth, and everything is
gorgeous that meets the eye in that room. The exhibition buildings
radiate from a high domed theatre in the central part of the grounds,
and these again have halls crossing their extremities, in the form of
our Capitol. The Queen’s Room and the one adjoining, decorated
constantly with fresh-cut flowers (under the supervision of the
queen’s sister, herself also a wife of the king), are the only rooms
enclosed with substantial teak-wood boards alternating with ornamental
glass windows, the whole forming nicely-finished and beautiful walls.
The second king’s department is next in beauty of finish, and then
come those of the highest princes. All have vied with each other in
their attempt to make the finest show. On Friday preceding the opening
the king dedicated a monument to the founder of the present dynasty,
and one to some other dead man (I forget his name), and they had a
wonderful procession. The king was borne in state on a royal litter,
and was dressed in his suit of gold-cloth and wore his crown of gold
and diamonds. He looked just like an idol. He had to sit so erect and
still, he appeared almost as motionless as the images you see in the
pictures of the idol gods, except that with his left hand he dipped
silver coins out of a bowl of solid gold which was fixed on the post
of the litter and threw them broadcast with his right hand at
intervals. How the children and common people did struggle to obtain
those little coins! The procession was made up of soldiers from the
cavalry, artillery and infantry, and there were also many bands of
soldiers equipped with the spear, the battle-axe, the bow and arrow,
and all sorts of ancient weapons such as were used a hundred years
ago. I think that was a proud day for the king, but if I could judge
from his face, the opening day of the Centennial Exhibition was the
proudest, happiest day of his life. His face beamed with joy, and
every word, look and movement denoted keen satisfaction with all his
eyes beheld. We are praying that good results may follow――far better
than His Majesty anticipated.”
RECENT EVENTS.
[From the _Siam Weekly Advertiser_, September 22, 1883.]
“His Majesty, the king of Siam, has graciously responded to the appeal
in behalf of the Netherlands India sufferers [from the volcanic
eruptions and earthquakes in Java] by sending a telegraphic despatch
of sympathy to the governor-general and a donation of $4800. Her
Majesty, the queen of Siam, has likewise most graciously given a
donation for the same purpose of $4200.
“The line of telegraph from Bangkok to Saigon in French Cochin-China,
recently completed, which on the 16th of July last put Siam in
immediate communication with the rest of the world, is working most
successfully, as is also the local mail system, which this progressive
ruler has just established in the capital of his dominions. Of these
he speaks in his royal speech in reply to the congratulations tendered
him on his thirtieth birthday, September 21, 1883:
“… ‘This year has been especially marked by the opening of telegraphic
communication _viâ_ Saigon with Europe and the world. We are well
pleased by the energy with which our commissioners and the provincial
officers labored in erecting this line, and we gladly take occasion to
thank the government of French Cochin-China, the consulate of France
at Bangkok and the French engineers who assisted in its construction.
“‘Our commissioners and provincial officers have also with great
rapidity set up a line to the frontier of Tavoy, and when the British
portion is completed, next season, we shall be doubly linked to the
telegraph-lines pervading the world.
“‘The post-office now delivers letters with regularity throughout the
capital and its suburbs. The use made of it has surprisingly exceeded
our expectations, as we did not think that Siamese would write so many
letters. We are now most desirous to extend the postal service
throughout Siam to the great advantage of trade and good government,
and when that is done we hope, as invited by the postmaster-general of
Germany, to extend our correspondence through the world by entering
the postal union.’”
CHAPTER XIX.
_MISSIONARY LADIES IN THE KING’S PALACE._
Paint to your fancy a village of curious Oriental houses, with a high,
thick wall, three miles in circuit, surrounding it. In this village,
or miniature city, are the king’s quarters. Here are temple-grounds
with their temples and idols and all their rich adornings, whither
people of many generations have gone to worship at shrines which their
own hands have made. Here are the dwellings of the king’s wives and
the residences of the princesses, old and young, who cannot be allowed
to marry beneath their royal rank. Each lady has a separate house and
has her retinue of servants――all women. There is also a market,
conducted entirely by women. The census of the dwellers in this palace
was once taken, and it amounted to three thousand females. This
included the king’s wives, princesses with their servants, the
market-women and the female officers of the court.
In 1851 the priest-prince came to the throne. He was the son of a
queen, and he looked upon his older brother (the son of an inferior
wife, and who had gained possession of the throne) as a usurper. Rumor
had it that he entered the priesthood that he might avoid bowing down
before his brother the king. However this may be, he assumed the
yellow robes and shaven head and entered a wat, where he gained the
eminence of high priest. There he remained during his brother’s reign.
In the wat he gave himself up to study, in which he made great
proficiency, considering his circumstances. In his brother’s reign the
Christian missionaries were kept under strict surveillance, and were
not allowed to obtain homes anywhere in the kingdom excepting in
Bangkok, the capital. The priest-prince frequently visited them in
their homes, and became familiar with their work and learned the
object of their coming to Siam. He took up the study of the English
language, and for a time employed the Rev. Mr. Caswell, one of the
missionaries, as teacher, giving him in turn the privilege of
preaching in his wat-grounds. I recall some of his visits to us. One
evening he was attracted by the picture of a tree which I had
carefully drawn with my pencil while in America, and which had been
beautifully touched up by my accomplished teacher. It hung upon the
dark teak-wood wall of our drawing-room. He seemed surprised that with
the hand and a mere pencil a picture could be made so much like a fine
engraving. We gave him the picture. One night he came to one of our
mission-homes where there was a prayer-meeting. He remained until it
was over, and, accepting a hymn-book, followed the words of the hymn
sung.
He was attracted by the word “redemption,” and when the prayers were
over he said to one near him, “Redemption? What is it?” It was a new
English word to him, and he wished to know its meaning, but the way he
put the question seemed striking: “_Redemption? What is it?_” May each
one who reads this know experimentally what _redemption_ is!
Now, these years in the wat, when the prince could spend his time in
study and improve his mind by mingling with the good and true, both in
books and out of them, prepared him for a great advance when he came
to the throne. The courtiers and nobles of the kingdom determined his
succession, and when his brother passed away his yellow robes were
laid aside for the robes of the prince and he was borne to the king’s
quarters.
[Illustration: THE LATE FIRST KING AND QUEEN.]
When his coronation was over and he was firmly seated in power he
ordered an invitation which surprised us all. Missionary ladies were
invited to go to his palace and teach his royal household in the
English language. We considered this a providence which could not be
passed lightly, although we could not expect these ladies, so
accustomed to easy leisure, to make much progress in a language so
difficult as the English.
It was decided that Mrs. Bradley of the American Missionary
Association, Mrs. Smith of the Baptist mission, and Mrs. Mattoon of
the Presbyterian mission, should commence this unique work. They
arranged for each to go to the palace two days in the week. These
visits were continued for about three years, and in pleasant harmony
did this trio of ladies pursue their work.
The palace is on the left bank of the beautiful river Menam. Near the
bank of the river is a large, curiously-roofed open house. From our
boats we ascend a flight of steps and enter it. Passing through its
spacious area, we go into an avenue with high, thick walls, in which
are heavy gates. At the end of this avenue we come to the great heavy
front gate of the palace. Inside are open salas, with platforms and
screens, where the gatekeeper (an elderly woman) and a company of
women and children are assembled every day.
Our appointments were all in order. A female officer, Chow Roon Tum
Nuk Mai, had been ordered by the king to prepare for our reception. At
the river-house we were met by an elderly servant, who received our
basket of books and whatever we had to carry, and led us through the
windings of the way to our appointed place of teaching――through the
river-house, through the avenue mentioned, through the palace-gate,
through a wat-ground, by a market-place, and through narrow streets to
our teaching-hall. Here were assembled the king’s young wives and the
princesses of the blood. Curiosity and a desire to please the king
brought them together, and lessons in English were made the order of
the hour. The wives of the king selected for English study were
pretty, bright young girls, worthy of a far better and happier fate
than they could possibly find in the harem of any king. Some of the
princesses were fine, noble-looking women, who comforted themselves in
their lonely lives by reflecting that they were not obliged to share a
husband’s love with scores of others.
As was expected, these royal ladies dropped away from the English
class, and ere long none were left excepting a few young wives of the
king who were ambitious to please His Majesty and to be able to
converse with him in English. As the ladies left the English class,
they wished us to visit them in their homes; which we did, taking with
us our Christian books in Siamese, which some of them were fond of
reading. I remember a servant of one of the princesses who eagerly
read our books, and would give us a full account of what she had read
in one book before receiving another.
The little English class was continued, and books and maps were
procured for its persevering members. They made commendable progress,
though often interrupted by fêtes and festivals and play-days. One of
them one day asked me with seriousness what could be done to make the
king young. On the spur of the moment I replied, “Oh, have him advance
in knowledge and goodness; that will keep him young.” The answer, so
unpremeditated, pleased the young wife. I think she whispered it in
the ear of the king, to his great satisfaction and delight, for he had
a very homely as well as old face.
The king was called Chon Chewitt (“lord of life”), and woe betide the
one who would dare to cross his will! One day I was conversing with
these young wives, when one of them whispered, “Hush! hush!” I
inquired the reason, and she significantly pointed toward the king’s
quarters and drew her hand across her neck, as much as to say, “To
converse on such a subject might displease His Majesty, and he could
take off our heads.” I was credibly informed that he ordered one of
his wives to be put in chains and in prison for forgetting to wear a
certain ring which he had ordered to be worn on a certain day. One of
our pupils, a sweet-faced young girl, stole the king’s spectacles, and
sold them――to increase her spending-money, I suppose. I asked to be
led to her quarters, thinking I might be of some service to her. I
went, and upon arriving at the place, a sort of enclosed court with
open rooms, I inquired for her, and her pleasant face peeped out from
behind a screen, where she was confined, and returned my salutations.
She seemed totally untroubled by her situation; its commonness made
the disgrace unfelt, I suppose. Presently a female officer passed and
turned a stern eye upon me, and I quietly left, seeing that I could be
of no service there.
The king we seldom saw. There was to be a procession on the river one
day, and His Majesty, with the ladies of the court, was to go to the
river’s edge to view it. The ladies invited me to accompany them, and
I did so, and sat with them at some distance from the king. His
Majesty recognized me among them, and called me to him. I approached
him as I would approach the President of the United States. He
received me with politeness and pleasant salutations, and handed me
the glass with which he was viewing the procession. I received it from
his hand, and with it watched for a while the pageant as it slowly
moved over the river. I then returned the glass, bade His Majesty
adieu and returned to my seat among the princesses. For their sakes I
was glad of this little episode, for in those days Siamese etiquette
required inferiors to prostrate themselves upon hands and knees, with
faces to the earth, before superiors. In this position their
salutation was to place their hands together, touch them to the
forehead and bow to the floor or earth. In this painful attitude even
the princes and nobles always appeared before His Majesty, and the
custom prevailed throughout all the ranks. The elbows and knees of the
king’s courtiers were hard and callous, as they were obliged so often
to be in attendance upon His Majesty.
One day I was visiting a very friendly princess, a daughter of the
late king. She was delighted with our calls. On this occasion I found
her lame and sore. It was at the time when the young queen was sick
unto death. Under such circumstances the king deigns to be present in
the sick chamber, and this princess was one among the number called to
wait upon His Majesty. In carrying out his orders they were obliged to
crawl upon their hands and knees, and her knees were all blistered by
the day’s waiting. I could not refrain from saying, “Why, we are not
made like cats and dogs! We are made to walk upright.” This remark
pleased her, and after thinking a few moments she said, “How true! and
how much easier and nicer to walk upright!” But, thinking a few
moments more, she said, “But, ah, it cannot be done here.” Sure
enough, such is the power of custom that it could not be done then and
there, but influences were at work which would gradually undo those
hard, servile customs. When those princesses saw me walk upright in
the presence of the king they would naturally think, “Why are we not
permitted to do the same?” and thus one little step is taken to remove
the shackles.
One day, as our attendant was leading me to our teaching-hall, we were
near meeting a lady of high rank with her long train of servants. Now,
I did not require my attendant to crouch before me, and she would
naturally infer that with her I would prostrate myself in the presence
of this lady of rank. So, touching my arm, she warned me of the
approach of the royal personage, expecting me to meet her as an
inferior and prostrate myself before her. “Oh,” I said, “I am an
American; our customs are different from yours.” I had met this lady
before, and she knew me and met me with a pleasant salutation, while
my attendant and all the train of maidens were down to the earth in a
moment. Now, the natural thought among these prostrate ones would be,
“Here is a person who stands on a footing with our great ones, yet she
does not require us to prostrate ourselves before her.” Little by
little are such miserable customs worn away by persistent Christian
effort.
Our visits to the houses of the different ladies of the palace became
more and more extended. These houses were not the clean, sweet,
pleasant homes of an intelligent Christianity. Only a few of them had
much that was attractive about them. In many of them flowers were
cultivated, and they wrought in fancy-work. For their gala-days their
servants would bring in large quantities of flowers, which they would
turn into fanciful forms to grace the festive occasions.
One day I was seated with a princess upon an elevated platform in her
court. She and her maidens were at work with artificial flowers, and a
cup of paste and vessels with the parts of the flowers and leaves were
scattered here and there among them. All at once a pet monkey which
had become loose marched to the stage and suddenly appeared among us.
Undaunted, he walked about, put his nose into the cup of paste and
tipped it over, passed his paws over the delicate parts prepared for
the complete flowers and made himself master of the situation. I sat
in mute consternation, while the princess and her maidens seemed as
quiet as if no monkey were there. By and by he marched around to a
place where a servant could secure him, and she made him fast. I asked
why they allowed him to march around their work and commit such
depredations. “Ah,” said one of them, “if we had attempted to take him
then, he would have bitten us and would have made greater havoc among
our flowers; better to wait till he works himself into a place where
he can be secured without danger.”
I have kept one of the sisters of the king very pleasantly in memory.
Her bearing was noble and lady-like, and with a fair opportunity she
would have graced the palace of any king. She read our Christian
books, and seemed interested in them. One day we had a long
conversation upon the Christian religion. She remarked that my
religion was good and that her religion was good, and she spoke of the
deeds of merit she had done. “Yes,” I replied, “wherein they agree
they are both alike good, but in some things they do not at all agree.
In the Christian religion we believe in one God, the great Jehovah,
who created all things and who is from everlasting to everlasting. In
the Buddhist religion you have made a human philosopher a god. The
great Jehovah has forbidden the worship of idols, but your country is
full of them, and the name of the true God is taken in vain. The great
Jehovah has commanded us to set apart one day in seven for his
worship, but in your religion this is not observed. We believe in the
great eternal One described in our Bible, who made these beautiful
flowers and made our wonderful bodies with their spirit-life――who
created the heavens above us and the earth beneath us and all things.
This great eternal One has given his Son to be a Redeemer to all who
will come to him and repent of sin. These things make the Christian
religion different from yours.” The dear lady thoughtfully replied,
“These things I must look into; I have not thought of them before.” I
sincerely hope she did look into them, and was brought to reverence
and adore the great Jehovah through the merits of Jesus Christ.
We did not rudely intrude the tenets of our religion upon them, but
always answered kind inquiries and freely gave our opinions. In this
way they would frequently be led to acknowledge the superiority of our
customs over theirs. In the matter of polygamy many high in station in
their quiet moments, in private conversation, would acknowledge it to
be a very bad thing, and the king seemed happy in saying that he had
fewer wives than any of his predecessors. When Christianity reigns in
full power this giant evil will be for ever banished from our world.
By persistent Christian effort, with law on its side, may we not hope
that it will be speedily driven from our own dear country for ever?
After three years, during which time our visits to the palace were
kept up quite regularly, they came to a close. One day Mrs. Smith
started for her day at the palace. Our attendant was not at the
river-house to meet her; but at other times she had not been there,
and we found our own way in the palace-grounds; so Mrs. Smith
proceeded to the palace-gate. But the gatekeeper was not to be seen,
nor any of her company, and Mrs. Smith left. We all felt that this
probably meant that our teaching in the palace must cease. But as it
seemed possible that the gate-women might be away attending some
festival for the time, I went the next day, to make sure. There was no
attendant at the river-house, and as I passed up the avenue for the
palace-gate a Siamese woman stepped into the avenue from a side gate
just before me. The moment she saw me she darted back, plainly showing
that an order had been given, and that it was understood. I proceeded
to the gate where we had so often passed in and out. As I drew near
there was a rustle and a rush to hide from my presence. I called out
pleasantly in Siamese, asking if they would not open the gate for me,
but no answer came excepting the suppressed laughter of some young
girls hiding behind the screens. We quietly accepted the evident
intention of the king, and our teaching in the palace ceased.
It was thought that some of the ladies were becoming interested in
Christianity, but of this we could not be sure. Some years after this
time His Majesty advertised for an English teacher for his children,
with the strict proviso that the Christian religion should have no
place in the teaching. To break from settled customs might cost him
his throne. Worldly policy! How many with high Christian intelligence
it has kept from the right and true! Need we wonder at this heathen
king? With great infirmities he had some noble traits. He owed more to
the Christian religion than he would be willing to allow. When Mr.
Mattoon was about leaving Siam he went to the palace to bid the king
adieu. In the interview His Majesty acknowledged his belief in the
true God――the “Supreme Agency,” as he termed it. He has passed away
since then, and his son is now on the throne. Many happy changes have
been wrought out, and we constantly pray that the great and best
change may come――that every idol may be cast away and loyalty to the
great Jehovah may be written upon every heart in Siam.
TEACHING IN THE PALACE OF THE KING OF SIAM IN 1880.
The following letter from Maa Tuan, matron of the girls’
boarding-school at Bangkok, was partially translated from the Siamese
and partially dictated to one of the missionary ladies. She is a most
efficient, earnest Christian worker, a “living witness” among these
people. She has been a Christian for years, her father being literally
the “first-fruits” of Presbyterian effort in Siam.
MAA TUAN’S LETTER.
A nobleman, the brother of Koon Lin, a former pupil in the school, who
is now, with her sister Juan, in the royal palace――the latter being a
wife of His Majesty the king――asked me to come to the palace and teach
his sisters during the two months of vacation.
I lived in the royal harem for one month, and I think it will interest
your friends to have me tell you some of the things I saw while there.
It is said that within the palace-walls there are about one thousand
women, wives, slaves and servants, as no man is permitted to live
there except His Majesty the king. I should judge that about thirty of
these women are wives of the king. Many of these wives, with their
servants, live in a long brick building which stands near the palace.
Eight of the king’s half-sisters and the only daughter of the regent
of the Belur are the highest in position, and their rooms in the harem
are more richly and beautifully furnished than those of the other
wives. The rooms of the king’s favorite, Peahong Sawang (one of his
half-sisters), are three in number. The first is trimmed with pink
silk, another blue and the third green. Even the windows and door are
colored, and all is very beautiful to the eye.
Peahong Sawang is the mother of the oldest son of His Majesty, who is
now about two years of age. To be the mother of a royal son is quite
an honor in the harem, and it is only male offspring of the king, _by
one of his sisters_, that can inherit the throne.
I lived in the harem with the women, and saw and talked with them all
very often. They were quite friendly, though they knew that I had
given up their religion, and would not bow to the image of Buddha,
which they worshiped every night, offering flowers and burning of
fragrant wood. These women sit in idleness all the day long, unless
sent for to go to the palace. They often tried to persuade me to
return to Buddhism, giving me one of their books to read instead of my
Bible, which I had with me, and making sport of me, saying, ‘Ah, you
were once in the light, but now you are walking in the darkness.’ But
my heart did not mind what they said; I told them of the religion of
Jesus, and, going by myself, I prayed to Jesus to help them. My
business there was to teach Koon Lin and Koon Juan to translate
Siamese into English. Both these girls were pupils of Mrs. Dr. House,
and speak very lovingly of her. Koon Lin still has the English Bible
Mrs. House gave her, and translated from it every day. She said that
when she was in school she believed its teachings, but now she was
indifferent, it was all so different in the palace.
The police who have charge of the royal harem are women, and night and
day close watch is kept that no one goes out or comes in without their
permission. Any one not known to the guards is searched at the door of
entrance. Every afternoon at four o’clock the gates of the palace are
locked. On my way to the market near I could often see the king as he
walked in his royal palace, which is higher than other buildings. In
the courtyard below the native children played noisily, which the king
did not seem to mind. This is very different from the old king, before
whom all must bow or fall on their faces.
CHAPTER XX.
_CORONATION OF HIS MAJESTY THE SUPREME KING OF SIAM._
The Siamese monarchy is not hereditary――that is, not in the sense that
that term is understood in Europe. There is what is called the
_Senabodee_, or royal counselors, consisting of the chief ministers of
state, who during the life of the king are merely silent counselors,
but upon his death their power becomes manifest, and upon them
devolves the responsibility of selecting a successor and governing the
kingdom until such successor is chosen. The successor must be a prince
of the realm, but not necessarily the eldest son of the late king;
indeed, not necessarily a son of his at all.
The death of the late king occurred about nine o’clock P. M. The prime
minister was immediately summoned to the palace, and convened the
_Senabodee_, and before midnight the succession was determined and
everything going on smoothly. They chose in this instance the eldest
son of the late king, Somdetch Chowfa Chulalangkorn, a boy about
sixteen years old.
His coronation took place on Wednesday, November 11, 1868, being the
day decided upon by the Brahman astrologers as the one most
propitious. At this coronation there was a slight innovation upon the
usual Siamese custom. No European had ever before witnessed the
coronation ceremonies of any king of Siam. The late king, after his
coronation, wrote a private note to some of his European friends
stating that he would have been glad to have had them present, but
“state reasons forbade the presence of foreigners.”
[Illustration: SOMDETCH CHOWFA CHULALANGKORN.]
The number of Europeans present at the coronation proper of the
present king were few, consisting of the consuls of the different
treaty powers with their suites, the officers of H. B. M.’s gunboat
Avon and a few others. The writer held at the time the seals of the
United States consulate, and was the only representative of our
government in the kingdom, and consequently received an invitation,
which might not have been accorded to him as a mere missionary. The
company of Siamese present was equally small, consisting only of the
chief princes and nobles of the kingdom. The hour named was six A. M.,
but owing to some delay it was nearly eight when we passed into a
small triangular court facing one of the doors of the inner
audience-hall. In front of the door of the hall stood an elevated
platform richly gilded, and upon that platform was placed a very large
golden basin. Within that basin was a golden tripod or three-legged
stool. Over the platform was a quadrangular canopy, and over the
canopy was the nine-storied umbrella, tapering in the form of a
pagoda. Over the centre of the canopy was a vessel containing
consecrated water, said to have been prayed over nine times and poured
through nine different circular vessels before reaching the top of the
canopy. This water is collected from the chief rivers of Siam and at a
point above tidal influence, and is constantly kept on hand in
reservoirs near the temples in the capital. In the vessel was placed a
tube or siphon, representing the pericarp of the lotus-flower after
the petals have fallen off.
[Illustration: HALL OF AUDIENCE, PALACE OF BANGKOK.]
At a flourish of crooked trumpets resembling rams’ horns the king
elect descended from the steps of the hall, arrayed in a simple
waist-cloth of white muslin, with a piece of the same material thrown
over his shoulders, and took his seat upon the tripod in the basin. A
Brahman priest approached him and offered him some water in a golden
lotus-shaped cup, into which he dipped his hand and rubbed it over his
head. This was the signal for the pulling of a rope and letting loose
the sacred water above in the form of a shower-bath upon his person.
This shower-bath represents the _Tewadas_, or Buddhist angels, sending
blessings upon His Majesty. A Buddhist priest then approached and
poured a goblet of water over his person. Next came the Brahman
priests and did the same. Next came the chief princes, uncles of the
king; next two aged princesses, his aunts. The vessels used by these
princes and princesses were conch-shells tipped with gold. Then came
the chief nobles, each with a vessel of different material, such as
gold, silver, pinchbeck, earthenware; then, last of all, the prime
minister with a vessel of iron. This finished the royal bath.
He then descended from the stool in a shivering state, and was
divested of his wet clothes and arrayed in regal robes of golden cloth
studded with diamonds. In the south end of the audience-hall was an
octagonal throne, having sides corresponding to the eight points of
the compass. He first seated himself on the side facing north, passing
around toward the east. In front of each side of the throne was
crouched a Buddhist and a Brahman priest, who presented him with a
bowl of water, of which he drank and rubbed some on his face. At each
side they repeated to him a prayer, to which he responded. I was too
far off to hear all, but the following is said to be a translation of
it:
_Priest._ “Be thou learned in the laws of nature and of the universe.”
_King._ “Inspire me, O Thou who wert a law unto thyself!”
_Priest._ “Be thou endowed with all wisdom and all acts of industry.”
_King._ “Inspire me with all knowledge, O Thou the enlightened!”
_Priest._ “Let mercy and truth be thy right and left arms of life.”
_King._ “Inspire me, O Thou who hast proved all truth and mercy!”
_Priest._ “Let the sun, moon and stars bless thee.”
_King._ “All praise to Thee, through whom all forms are conquered!”
_Priest._ “Let the earth, air and water bless thee.”
_King._ “Through the merit of thee, O Thou conqueror of death!”
He was then conducted to the north end of the hall, and was seated
upon another throne. The insignia of royalty were then presented to
him. They were handed to him by his uncle, Prince Chowfa Malaa Mala.
First came the sword, then the sceptre, then two massive gold chains
in a casket, which he suspended around his shoulders. Then came the
crown, which he put on his own head, and at that instant the royal
salute proclaimed him king under the title of Prabat Somdetch Pra
Paramendr Maha Chulalang Korn Kate Klou Yu Hua. Then came the golden
slippers, the fan, the umbrella, two large massive rings set with huge
diamonds, which he placed on each of his forefingers. Then one of each
of the Siamese weapons of war were handed to him, which he received
and handed back.
The Brahmans then wound up with a short address, to which he briefly
responded. He then distributed a few gold and silver flowers among his
friends, and the Europeans then withdrew to breakfast, which had been
prepared for them.
[Illustration: BRAHMAN AT WORSHIP.]
It may be asked why the Brahmans officiate so much when Siam is
emphatically a Buddhist country. I have asked several well-informed
noblemen for the reason, but have as yet been unable to ascertain. No
one appears able to give any true reason. There are a number of
Brahmans in the country, but their existence is scarcely ever noticed
except on some such occasion as the above.
At eleven o’clock A. M. the new king appeared for the first time
before his whole court. The outer audience-hall was richly decorated
and spread with rich Brussels carpet. When the foreign consuls entered
in a body the whole Siamese court was prostrate on their knees and
elbows on the carpet. Very soon the king entered, arrayed in regal
robes and wearing his crown, and seated himself upon the throne. The
whole court simultaneously placed the palms of their hands together
and then raised them up to the forehead, bowing their heads three
times to the floor. The chief ministers of state then formally
delivered over their several departments to the new monarch, to whom
he briefly responded. Senhor Vianna, consul-general for Portugal――his
being the oldest consulate――then, on behalf of the consuls present,
read a short congratulatory address, which called forth another brief
response, and the audience retired.
The king has generally one whom he constitutes his queen-consort. A
young princess of the highest rank that can be found in the kingdom is
selected. She is not, however, certain of promotion until after she
has lived with the king for a time and has succeeded in gaining a
large place in the royal affections. When this is sufficiently
accomplished the king appoints a day for her exaltation. Three days
are usually devoted to the purpose; the chief officers of the palace
and the chief princes and nobles of the kingdom are present.
The principal ceremonies devolve upon the priests, of whom there are
quite a number present, both Buddhist and Brahman. The princess is
copiously bathed in pure water, in which the leaves of a certain kind
of tree supposed to possess purifying and healthful influences are
put. Most of the time is spent in feasting, but on the third day she
is placed on a small throne under a white canopy, where she is bathed
with holy water, the priests reciting prayers the while. She is then
conducted to a place where her wet clothes are laid aside, and she is
arrayed in queenly costume, jewels and diamonds, and then displays
herself to those in attendance.
Instances have occurred where the king had two queen-consorts. In such
cases the one is called “the queen of the right hand” and the other
“the queen of the left hand.” It has only happened about twice in
Siamese history that the king has taken a foreign princess for his
queen-consort.
THE SIAMESE OATH OF ALLEGIANCE.
On the 21st of March, 1882, all the Siamese officials in the province
met upon the top of the mountain nearest to the town of Petchaburee
and drank the water of allegiance, pledging their loyalty to their
sovereign. They met in the audience-hall belonging to the king’s
country palace, which crowns the summit of this picturesque eminence.
Upon the throne erected for the king an image of Lord Buddha was
temporarily placed. Before the idol were burned incense-sticks and
sacred candles made of yellow wax. Below the idol was a large brasen
basin containing the water of allegiance. Across this basin were
placed a sword, gun, spear and other warlike weapons; a cord was tied
to the idol, and, passing around the basin of water, passed through
the hands of a line of yellow-robed priests, whose vain repetitions in
the Pali language were supposed to pass along the string to their
gilded god. Before each priest was placed two large salvers containing
a great variety of tempting-looking eatables, upon which, as soon as
they had finished their prayers, they fell to work in good earnest.
The repast finished, they brushed their teeth with the ends of soft
sticks, lit their cigarettes and puffed away complacently while the
oath was being administered.
The oath of allegiance is a long, horrible affair, which should they
fail to keep, they said, “We beseech the power of the deities to
plague with poisonous boils rapidly fatal and all manner of diseases
the dishonorable, perverse and treacherous with untimely, wretched and
appalling deaths, manifest to the eyes of the world; when we shall
have departed this life from earth cause us to be sent and all to be
born in the great hell, where we shall burn with quenchless fire for
tens and hundreds of thousands of ages and limitless transmigrations;
and when we have expiated our penalty there, and are again born into
any world, we pray we may fail to find the least happiness in worlds
of pleasurable enjoyments; let us not meet the god Buddha, the sacred
teachings, the sacred priests that come to be gracious to animals,
helping them escape misery, reach heaven and attain a succession of
births and deaths; should we meet them, let them grant us no gracious
assistance.” This is not all, but it is enough to show the fearfulness
of the oath, to which the officials listened with apparent
indifference.
The governor of the province, sitting upon his mat, with his vessels
and ornaments of gold spread out before him, seemed the most
indifferent of them all, and spent the greater portion of the time
occupied by reading the oath in picking fleas from his favorite dog
and in cracking them over his thumb. After the reading of the oath the
various weapons were dipped into the water, which exercise was
accompanied by the chanting of the priests and the blowing of
conch-shells, after which all in authority drank of the water and
sprinkled it upon their heads, bowing toward the idol and toward
Bangkok, where the king resides. This ended the ceremony, and all
departed to their homes.
CHAPTER XXI.
_HISTORY OF THE MISSIONS IN SIAM AND LAOS._
The American trading-vessel, commanded by Captain Coffin, which in
1829 brought to this country the famous “Siamese Twins,” brought also
an earnest appeal for aid in evangelizing that then almost unknown
land of their birth.
The appeal came from the zealous German missionary Gutzlaff and his
associate, the Rev. Mr. Tomlin, of the London Missionary Society, who
six months before had made their way to Siam, where they found not
only an open door, but a large and most inviting field, for missionary
labor. Their own societies not encouraging their permanent occupation
of this advanced post in heathendom, both these brethren urged the
American churches to enter in and possess the land for Christ. In
response to the appeal of Gutzlaff, which was specially addressed to
them, the American Board of Foreign Missions instructed the Rev. David
Abeel, then in China, to visit Siam with a view to its occupancy if he
deemed it advisable.
Dr. Abeel reached Singapore just as Mr. Tomlin was on the eve of
embarking on a second visit to Bangkok, and arrived with him in Siam
on June 30, 1831, a few days after Mr. Gutzlaff, disheartened by the
death of his devoted wife, had sailed away in a native junk for
Tientsin on the first of his memorable voyages of missionary
exploration up the coast of China. He had been in Siam nearly three
years in all, and had baptized one Chinese convert, whose name was
Boontai.
The new-comers found the people eager for the books and medicines they
had brought, and they labored faithfully for the good of the many
Siamese and Chinese of high and low degree who came to visit them. In
six months, however, Mr. Tomlin was called away, and Dr. Abeel also
was obliged to leave Siam on a trip to Singapore to recruit his
impaired health. Returning to Siam, he labored on till November 5,
1832, when continued ill-health drove him finally from the field.
Just two months before this the Rev. John Taylor Jones, who had been
appointed a missionary to Siam by his American Baptist missionary
associates in Burmah, to whom also Messrs. Gutzlaff and Tomlin had
written, left Maulmain, where he had been stationed, for Singapore, on
his way with his family to his new field. Delayed at that port, he did
not arrive in Siam till March 25, 1833. Mr. Jones had been designated
specially to the Siamese, but took supervision at once of the little
company of Chinese worshipers Dr. Abeel and others had gathered, and
in December baptized three of them. His Board at home approved the
step Mr. Jones had taken, and determined to sustain the new mission,
which thus proved to be the first permanently established in Siam.
The next to arrive in the field were two missionaries of the American
Board, Messrs. Johnson and Robinson, who, with their wives, had
embarked at Boston June 11, 1833, but, detained nine weary months in
Singapore for a vessel to Siam, did not reach Bangkok till July 25,
1834, having been more than a year on their way. Mr. Johnson entered
at once upon active labors for the Chinese, and Mr. Robinson for the
Siamese, part of the population.
During the summer of 1834 the Rev. William Dean and his wife, who had
been appointed by the American Baptist Board missionaries to the
Chinese of Siam――their first missionaries, in fact, to any speaking
the Chinese language――and Daniel B. Bradley, M. D., and wife, whom the
American Board sent out to reinforce their mission to the Siamese,
sailed from Boston for Singapore. While delayed at Singapore, Mrs.
Dean was removed by death, and it was not till July 18, twelve months
after leaving Boston, that Drs. Dean and Bradley, with Mrs. Bradley,
reached their destined field.
Dr. Bradley soon opened a medical dispensary, and entered with zeal,
faith and energy, which neither illness nor tropical heat nor any
discouragement could abate, upon a course of medical and preaching,
printing, writing and translating labors for the good of the Siamese,
which ceased not till he resigned his breath in June, 1873――thirty-eight
years after. Dr. Dean devoted himself to the instruction of the
Chinese that thronged the city――a labor of Christian love which this
venerable first apostle of the Baptist Church to the Chinese is still
(1884) prosecuting in that same heathen city. In December, 1835, he
baptized three new converts.
Both missions were now in efficient working order, with each its
Chinese department as well as its Siamese, the Baptist mission
laboring among the Chinese that spoke the Tachew dialect, who were
emigrants from the Swatow district of the Canton province, while the
A. B. C. F. M.’s mission looked after those that spoke the Hokien or
Amoy dialect――different from that used by the Swatow people, and
hardly intelligible to them.
The medical services of the missionaries and their medicines, and the
Christian tracts and books they distributed without money and without
price, were eagerly sought, and there was free access to the people in
their streets, homes, and temples even, for making known the new
religion; but none seemed savingly impressed――none of the _Siamese_.
Indeed, while the protracted reign of the bigoted and imperious king
who was on the throne when missions were established in Siam
continued, it would seem no native could be brought even to entertain
the question of forsaking the religion of the land, such was the dread
of the king’s wrath and of the stripes, imprisonment, torture, death
itself perhaps, that might be the fate of a convert.
The Chinese settlers in Siam were allowed more freedom of conscience;
the displeasure of their kinsmen was all they would have to fear from
change of religion. So Dr. Dean had the happiness of seeing the number
of Chinese believers increase, till in 1837 a church was
organized――the first church of Protestant Chinese Christians that was
ever gathered in the East. To this, by 1848, sixty names had been
added at different times. Mr. Johnson too, of the American Board’s
mission, had the pleasure of baptizing his Chinese teacher in 1838,
and in 1844 another of his teachers, Quaking, a Chinese of very
respectable literary attainments.
Meanwhile, all labored on in hope. Reinforcements were sent from time
to time to each mission. To the Baptist came, July, 1836, the Rev. Mr.
Davenport and wife and Mr. and Mrs. Reid――Mr. Reid, alas! to die of
dysentery in a little over a year. With these brethren came a
printing-press. A printing-press was sent out to the American mission
also the next year, so that both were now fully equipped for a most
important branch of mission-work among this nation of readers. Before
the year (1836) came to a close the first tract was printed,
containing an account of the giving of the Law, a summary of the Ten
Commandments, a short prayer and a few hymns. This is supposed to be
the first printing ever executed in Siam. They had also secured more
comfortable quarters on the west bank of the river, in the heart of
the city, in houses built for them and leased to them by the Praklang,
the minister of foreign affairs.
In March, 1838, Mrs. Eliza G. Jones died of cholera. She was a lady of
many gifts and graces. A little tract from her pen, _The Burmese
Village_, is one of the most vivid and touching pictures of heathenism
in all missionary literature. In April the Rev. Mr. Robbins and Dr.
Tracy arrived to join the A. B. C. F. M. mission, but both left the
following year.
This year (1838) was one memorable in the history of the Presbyterian
mission, as in it occurred the visit of the Rev. R. W. Dee, who had
been directed by the Presbyterian Board to proceed to Bangkok and
report upon its eligibility as a station for the missionary operations
they were about entering upon for the Chinese, so difficult of access
in their own country. During his month’s stay in Siam, Mr. Dee found
so large a field unoccupied, where laborers from our branch of the
Church would be gladly welcomed, that he urged upon the Board the
establishment of a mission in that land, not only to the Chinese
there, but to the Siamese also. November 5, 1838, Dr. Bradley was
ordained a minister of the gospel by his congregational associates.
In 1839 the Siamese government availed itself of one of the mission
printing-presses to multiply copies of a royal proclamation against
opium, and had an edition of nine thousand copies struck off. In
August of this year the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Slaftee of the Baptist
mission arrived.
In 1840 vaccination was successfully introduced into Siam by Dr.
Bradley,――a great boon to the people, among whom small-pox often
committed fearful ravages.
The American Board’s mission was strongly reinforced in its Siamese
departments early in the year by the arrival of the Rev. Messrs. Jesse
Caswell, Asa Hemenway, N. S. Benham and their wives, with Miss
Pierce――Mr. Benham to lose his life in one short month by drowning,
his boat capsizing in the Menam when returning from an evening
prayer-meeting. The Rev. Messrs. French and Peet, with their wives,
also arrived in May. To the Chinese department of the Baptist mission
came the Rev. Josiah Goddard and his wife in October.
It was in August of this same year that the Rev. William Buell and
wife, the first missionaries of the Presbyterian Board to the Siamese,
arrived in Bangkok. There were then in Siam no less than twenty-four
adult male and female missionaries.
But the next year Mr. Slaftee died of dysentery and Mrs. Johnson of
brain fever, and the widowed Mrs. Benham returned to the United
States. In 1842, Mr. French died of consumption, and the following
year his widow left Siam for the United States.
In 1842, by the treaty made at the close of the war between England
and China, the island of Hong Kong was ceded to the English and five
important seaports thrown open to foreign residence and trade. Dr.
Dean, under instruction from his Board, who hastened to enter the now
unbarred gates of access to the Chinese empire, removed early in the
year to Hong Kong, leaving the Chinese church in Bangkok in charge of
Mr. Goddard.
In 1843, Mr. and Mrs. J. H. Chandler arrived from Burmah, where, as a
type-founder and lay missionary, he had been employed for three years.
Being a practical machinist, he did much to introduce a knowledge of
the useful arts among some of the leading men of the kingdom. Prince
Chow Fah Noi, who subsequently, in 1851, was made the second king,
became a pupil of his, and constructed a well-appointed machine-shop
under his supervision, as did also an intelligent young Siamese
nobleman of progressive ideas who afterward became master of the mint.
In 1844 the first steamer ever seen in Siam made its appearance, and
greatly astonished the natives. On leaving, it took as passengers to
Singapore the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Buell, the only missionaries of the
Presbyterian Board, who were now, after only three and a half years’
residence, most reluctantly obliged to abandon their work, Mrs. Buell
having been stricken with paralysis. With their departure (February
24th) the Presbyterian mission in Siam died out, or rather was
suspended, and more than three years elapsed before it was resumed. It
had from the first been the intention of the Board to establish and
maintain a _Chinese_ department, but those sent out for this purpose,
on reaching Singapore and learning there how fully open China proper
was to the gospel, felt themselves called to proceed to that land,
whose claims seemed so much greater. Miss Pierce of the American
Board, who had come out as a missionary teacher, but failed to gather
a school, died of consumption in September of this year.
The year 1845 witnessed quite a reduction in the number of the
American missionaries in Siam. The Rev. Mr. Davenport and wife (now
Mrs. Fanny Feudge) of the Baptist mission left for the United States,
to return no more, and Dr. Jones, also, on a visit. The Rev. Charles
Robinson and family of the A. B. C. F. M. also left Siam (Mr. R. to
die at St. Helena on his passage home), while Mrs. Dr. Bradley died at
Bangkok in the triumphs of faith after years of efficient and loving
service for her Saviour――a most valuable helper in her husband’s work.
It was in this year that Prince Chow Fah Mongkut (Chow Fa Yai), who
afterward became king, then head-priest of a royal monastery within
the city-walls, invited one of the American missionaries, the Rev.
Jesse Caswell, to become his private tutor. So anxious was this
priest-prince for instruction that he offered an inducement which he
knew would weigh heavily with a missionary――the use of a room in a
building on the temple-grounds, where, after his hour for teaching was
over, he could preach and distribute Christian tracts. The arrangement
was made and carried out for over a year and a half. So much of the
future of Siam in providence was to hinge on those hours of intimate
intercourse between the faithful teacher and his illustrious and most
diligent pupil that all the particulars are of interest. The prince
was then about forty years of age――his teacher a graduate of Lane
Theological Seminary, a member of the Presbytery of Cincinnati, and in
the service of the A. B. C. F. M.
In 1846 the American Board, rightly deeming China proper a wider and
more promising field for the labors of their Chinese-speaking
missionaries, decided to give up their Chinese department in Siam,
instructing Messrs. Johnson and Peet to proceed to China and establish
a new mission at Fuh-Chow-fuh. With the close of the year came the
Rev. Mr. Jenks to assist Mr. Goddard of the Baptist mission, only to
leave, however, before the close of the next year, in consequence of
the failure of Mrs. Jenks’s health.
In February, 1847, Dr. Bradley, with his three motherless children,
left on a visit to the United States, his ship passing in the Gulf of
Siam the vessel in which newly-appointed missionaries of the
Presbyterian Board, Rev. Stephen Mattoon and wife and Samuel R. House,
M. D., were on their way to recommence the mission-work of that Board
in Siam, which had been so long discontinued.
These brethren had sailed from New York for China in the ship Grafton
in July, 1846, arriving at Macao, after a five months’ voyage, on
Christmas Day. No opportunity thence direct to Siam presenting, they
were constrained to proceed _viâ_ Singapore. There they were most
hospitably entertained by the Rev. B. P. Keasberry, a missionary to
the Malays, then of the London Missionary Society. Finding in the
harbor a native-built trading-ship belonging to the king of Siam,
commanded by a European, they secured a passage in it to Bangkok,
which, after a tedious voyage of twenty-four days, they reached March
22, 1847, eight months after they left New York. The journey from New
York to Bangkok can now be made by transcontinental railways and
Pacific mail-steamers, or by English steamers and the Suez Canal,
according as one goes west or east, in six or seven weeks only.
Upon arriving the new-comers were most cordially received by the
brethren of the A. B. C. F. M. and the American Baptist mission, and
welcomed to the homes of Messrs. Caswell and Hemenway, the only
remaining members of the A. B. C. F. M., till the vacant houses on
their premises could be prepared for their reception. They were soon
visited by many of the nobles and princes, and took an early
opportunity to pay their respects to the Praklang, Prince T. Mourfanoi
(Chow Fah Noi), and his elder brother, T. Y. Chow Fah Mongkut, the
prince-priest, at his residence in a beautiful monastery in the city.
By both these princes they were most kindly received――by the
last-named with marked regard, which they ever retained.
The tidings spreading that a new foreign physician had come to Siam,
patients of every description and of all classes crowded for relief,
till Dr. House was compelled to reopen the dispensary, which had long
been sustained by Dr. Bradley in a floating-house moored in front of
the mission premises. During the first eighteen months he had
prescribed for three thousand one hundred and seventeen patients. Mr.
Mattoon applied himself successfully to the study of the language, and
soon entered upon the work of tract-distribution, visiting for this
purpose the wats or Buddhist monasteries of the city, none being more
ready to receive Christian books than the priests――or monks,
rather――themselves.
In the ensuing cool season many tours were made with the brethren of
other missions. Petchaburee, Ayuthia, Prabat and Petrui were visited,
and everywhere they found a ready reception for the books and tracts
they carried with them.
In 1848 the Rev. John Taylor Jones, D. D., returned with Mrs. S. S.
Jones and Miss Harriet Morse, a missionary teacher, but Mr. Goddard of
the same mission was obliged to remove to a more invigorating climate,
and left for Ningpo, China. In September of this year the mission
cause sustained an irreparable loss in the death of Jesse Caswell. He
was a man of most earnest purpose and rare fitness for the missionary
work. His qualifications as a teacher were appreciated by the Prince
Chow Fah Mongkut, who chose him as his instructor in the English
language and science, and derived from him, chiefly during the
eighteen months’ continuous instruction he received, those enlarged
and liberal ideas in government and religion which, when he succeeded
to the throne, led him to open Siam to commerce and improvement. No
wonder that after he became king he erected a handsome tomb over his
esteemed teacher’s remains and sent to his widow in the United States
a gift of one thousand dollars, and subsequently five hundred dollars
more, as tokens of regard for his memory. In February, 1849, Mrs.
Caswell and family returned to America.
Mr. Caswell’s death and Mr. Hemenway’s illness threw now upon Mr.
Mattoon, though he had been but eighteen months in the field, the
Sabbath preaching-service at the station and a tri-weekly service at a
hired room used as a chapel in the bazaar. There were, too, many
applicants for books daily at the houses of the missionaries, and they
had to be instructed and supplied.
In 1849 the Presbyterian missionaries were made glad by the arrival in
April of the Rev. Stephen Bush and wife, as were the Baptists by the
Rev. Samuel J. Smith’s arrival in June. When a lad Mr. Smith had been
taken into the family of Dr. Jones, came on with him to Siam, had been
sent by him thence to the United States to be educated, and now came
out to assist that veteran missionary in his work.
The newly-arrived missionaries were busy in the acquisition of the
language when suddenly the pestilence like a thunderbolt burst upon
the inhabitants of Bangkok, sweeping to destruction in less than one
month full thirty-five thousand, or about one-tenth, of its
population. For days together, when this epidemic of Asiatic cholera
was at its height, there were two thousand deaths in the twenty-four
hours in Bangkok alone. The mission families were graciously permitted
to abide in peace and safety. As may be imagined, the whole time of
the missionary-physician was engrossed by attendance on the sick and
the dying in princes’ palaces and in bamboo huts, and, through the
blessing of Providence on remedies to which he was directed, many
lives were saved and many lifelong friends secured to himself and the
religion he professed. Of all those thousands that perished, alas! but
one died in hope――an old man from a far-distant up-country home, who
from the reading of Christian tracts alone, without ever seeing the
living teacher, had joyfully received the truth, and, finding his way
to Bangkok and to the Baptist mission to be instructed more perfectly,
got there just in time (so it was strangely ordered) to become one of
the earliest victims of the epidemic. He died without fear, trusting
in the Saviour he had found.
August 29, 1849, witnessed the organization of the first Presbyterian
church in Siam. Earnest prayer went up that day that the little vine
there planted might flourish and increase, and at last overshadow the
land. To this church, made up of the mission families, a worthy native
brother was added by certificate from the church in connection with
mission of the A. B. C. F. M.――Quakieng, who, it will be remembered,
had been baptized by Mr. Johnson in 1844.
With the last week of the year 1849 the Rev. Asa Hemenway, the sole
remaining missionary of the A. B. C. F. M., after just ten years of
faithful service on mission-ground, embarked with his family for the
United States, and the operations of that Board in Siam closed. For
fifteen years its missionaries had cultivated this interesting and
inviting, but as to visible results most barren, field. From none of
the native races of the land had they gathered one reliable convert.
Their missionaries had labored, and labored well, but others were to
enter into their labor. The “set time” for Siam’s visitation had not
yet come. It would seem that “he that letteth must let, till he be
taken out of the way” of this man-fearing people before gospel truth
could have “free course, run and be glorified.” The books that they
prepared, translated and distributed, the favor won by their
gratuitous healing of the sick, and the introduction, first, of
inoculation and afterward of vaccination for the small-pox, the
training given in habits of industry and order and in knowledge of the
Christian Scriptures to those employed by them in their printing-office
and in their families, were not lost, nor the high opinion the natives
learned to entertain of the truthfulness, benevolence and goodness of
American Christian men derived from them and their worthy Baptist
associates. And we must not forget how largely the career of progress
on which Siam has since entered is traceable to the influence of one
member of this mission.
In the spring of 1850 the Rev. Dr. Bradley, who had, while in the
United States, transferred his relations to the American Missionary
Association, returned with Mrs. Sarah B. Bradley and his children, and
with him came as associates the Rev. L. B. Lane, M. D., and Prof. J.
Silsby. To the A. M. A. had been made over the dwelling-houses,
chapel, printing-press, etc. of the A. B. C. F. M.; the ground on
which they stood had been only leased.
It was now imperatively necessary that the Presbyterian mission should
have a home of its own, but all attempts to procure one failed. The
knowledge of the unwillingness of the government to give foreigners
any foothold upon the soil deterred the owners of suitable locations
from selling to the missionaries. And when at last one, braver than
the rest, was found willing to part with land enough for a station in
the upper part of the city, and permission to purchase obtained from
the proper official, and the money had been paid over, and one of the
missionaries with his family had removed in a floating house to the
spot to commence building, a peremptory order from one of the highest
grandees revoked the permission given, and compelled the return of the
mission family and the payment back of the purchase-money by the
seller. No other reason was given than that “the residence of
foreigners there was contrary to the custom of the country.” Nor could
any eligible site be rented even.
The king, who had always been a zealous and bigoted Buddhist, had now
become more despotic and selfish and averse to foreign intercourse
than ever, monopolized himself what little trade there was, and
settled down into a narrow policy that would exclude all nations but
China from the products of his dominion. Neither of the friendly
embassies which visited Siam this year――that from America in March or
that from England in August――could obtain an audience even, much less
gain any concessions in matters of trade or residence or protection of
the interests of their people.
The English ambassador, the celebrated Sir James Brooke (“Rajah
Brooke”), mortified and insulted by the reception given him, withdrew,
threatening to return with a fleet and force that should compel
respect. War seemed so imminent that the proposition kindly made to
the mission families to retire with the ships of the embassy, lest
hostile measures entered upon should subject not English residents
only, but all speaking the English tongue, to a fate like that of Dr.
Judson when the war broke out with Burmah, was seriously considered,
though not accepted.
Very dark were the prospects of all the missions now. The native
teachers were arrested and imprisoned, and threatened with the ratan
and with fetters; the Siamese servants left in a panic; none came to
hear preaching or applied for books.
But the darkest hour is just before day. Just then, in the overruling
providence of God, a mortal though lingering illness seized the king,
and for months all things were in suspense till, in April, 1851, his
long reign ended and he “entered into Nipan,” as the Siamese say when
royalty expires.
Upon the throne, as his successor, was now placed, by the concurrent
voice of the grand council of princes and nobles, the Prince Chow Fah
Mongkut, and Siam entered upon a new era in her history; for this
remarkable man by his devotion to study during the twenty-seven years
of his seclusion from public affairs in a monastery, while his
inferior half-brother, who had artfully supplanted him, reigned with
so strong a hand, and by his intimate association with the American
missionaries, and especially by his having been long under the almost
daily tutelage of one of them, had become emancipated from many of the
prejudices of his countrymen, and prepared to set the wheels of
progress in motion.
Bright now were the prospects of the missionaries. Their teachers and
their old servants returned, and, as the sovereign was known to be
personally friendly to the missionaries, they were treated with
respect by all ranks, and had everywhere a civil hearing for the
message they brought. Indeed, they were assured from the throne on the
day of the coronation, when they were invited to the palace, that they
should be unmolested in their work. Lest, however, they should be too
exultant in their new hopes, Providence was pleased to order trials
and bereavements to each of the missions. Mrs. Bush had an attack of
hemorrhage from the lungs, that on the 22d of July, after six short
weeks of illness, resulted in her death. No, it was _not death_, but
_a translation_. To those who witnessed her triumphant departure it
seemed as if her spirit, when it reached the threshold of the gate of
the heavenly city, turned to tell them what she saw. “Beautiful!” she
said――“beautiful! Heaven is one great beauty.”
Early in January, in the midst of the other discouragements, the
Baptist mission had suffered a great calamity. A fire in the night,
doubtless of incendiary origin, had destroyed their dwelling-houses,
chapel, printing-press――including a large edition just completed of
the New Testament in Siamese――and nearly all their personal effects.
Their loss amounted to ten or twelve thousand dollars. A temporary
house of bamboo and thatch was hastily thrown up, but new dwellings
must be erected, and from exposure to the sun and fatigue in procuring
timber for the rebuilding Dr. Jones was taken ill, and, his
constitution being impaired by a score of years spent in the tropics,
he succumbed to disease on the 13th of September, and passed
peacefully away――an irreparable loss to his mission and to Siam. He
was a man of excellent judgment, piety and culture, and had a rare
mastery of the Siamese language with its curious idioms that made him
most acceptable to the natives as a preacher and writer. His
translation of the New Testament and several tracts that he prepared
attest his scholarship in Siamese and his ability.
Just before this sad event the Rev. William Ashmore and wife, who had
been sent out by the Baptist Board to take charge of the Chinese
department, arrived in Bangkok.
And now the Presbyterian mission obtained at last what it had so many
years sought in vain. An eligible location was tendered them near the
centre of the city, not far below the palace, adjoining one of the
largest wats and in the neighborhood of several others.
About this time the king, with a singular appreciation for an Oriental
monarch of the importance of female education, in a note in which he
says he “desires several ladies who live with him to acquire knowledge
in English,” invited the wives of the missionaries to visit his palace
and alternate in giving regular instruction to his numerous family.
Gladly and with much interest did Mrs. Mattoon, Mrs. Dr. Bradley and
Mrs. Dr. Jones, representing the three missions in the field, enter
upon their work――_the first zenana-teaching ever attempted in the
East_.[2] Twenty-one of the thirty young wives of the king, and
several of his royal sisters, composed the class. During the three
years these labors continued much Christian as well as secular
knowledge was imparted to these secluded ones――_saving_ knowledge, it
was hoped, in the case of one at least, a princess of the highest
rank.
As soon as the rains were over and possession was given of their new
premises, Messrs. Mattoon and Bush proceeded to enclose the ground,
dig trenches for the foundations, purchase rafts of teak-wood logs and
superintend their sawing by hand into the timber and planks required
to put up two plain but convenient brick dwelling-houses. Mr. Bush’s
experience and practical skill here proved of great value. Before the
rains fairly set in, early in June, one house was finished, and Mrs.
Mattoon and family removed into it from the floating house on the
river, lent to them by a friendly prince, which had been their
temporary home while the new building was going up. They had found it
not an undesirable residence, though one memorable dark night, having
been detached from its moorings that it might slip away from a fire
that was raging on a river-bank near, through the carelessness of a
servant it got adrift and carried its inmates off against their will,
with a rapid tide, seven or eight miles down the river before its
progress could be arrested. The truant dwelling, however, with all its
contents undisturbed, with the turn of the tide was brought back to
its old moorings safe and sound.
The other dwelling-house was soon completed and occupied. The mission
having now a home of its own and ample room, in October, 1852, a
boarding-school for Siamo-Chinese boys was opened, and Quakieng, who
was an experienced Chinese teacher, put in charge――the free tuition
the lads would receive half of each day in their father-tongue being,
it was hoped, an inducement that would attract such pupils within the
reach of Christian instruction.
Before the first year ended twenty-seven had been enrolled. All
attempts to gather _Siamese_ boys in a school had failed thus far,
though some individual scholars had been taught, as the wats gave free
tuition to all, and merit was made by providing the priests with their
pupil-attendants.
An interesting, amiable young Hainan Chinese, See Teug by name, had
the year previous been baptized by Mr. Mattoon, in whose family he
long had lived――the first of that people to become a Protestant
Christian――and gave pleasing evidence of his love to his Saviour by
the interest he manifested in bringing his fellow-countrymen to the
knowledge of the gospel. A Sabbath evening-service was held for their
benefit, the new convert acting as Bible-reader and interpreter.
Afterward a Hainan teacher was secured, and for many years a
Hainan-Chinese department of the boarding-school maintained, in the
hope of bringing under saving Christian influences some of the many
Chinese in Siam from the island of Hainan, which had been hitherto
entirely unreached by Protestant missionary effort. A day-school for
the Peguan girls in the neighborhood was started by Mrs. Mattoon, who
had also two or three native girls in her own family under Christian
training.
About this time great numbers came to the houses of the missionaries
for books and conversation on religious matters, fifty or sixty in a
day, attendance upon whom required the whole time of one of the
brethren. Over a thousand Christian books a month were thus put into
the hands of intelligent readers. Young priests and boys from the
neighboring wats were frequent visitors, and as no second volume was
given until they had been questioned on the contents of the first, and
many thus received the whole series of the publications of the
mission, much Scripture truth must have been imparted. So eager were
some of these lads for books that they would swim across the river to
get one, and then swim back with but one hand, holding up the prize
high and dry with the other.
And now followed a time of great outward prosperity――the government
friendly, the missionaries enjoying the respect of all classes, their
schools flourishing, their books eagerly sought. The mission of the
American Missionary Association, as a special token of the king’s
regard for its senior member, Dr. Bradley, was permitted to occupy a
very desirable location at the mouth of the principal canal of the
city, the chief channel of travel west.
In December, 1852, Mr. Bush, whose health required a change, left for
the United States.
The next year Dr. House made a tour of great interest, partly on foot,
partly on elephants, to Korat, an important inland town north-east of
Bangkok, over in the great valley of the Cambodia River, returning by
Kabin, and distributing many books and making known to many a
surprised listener in a wide district of country never before visited
by a missionary, or a white man even, the strange doctrine――strange to
them――of the being of a _living_ God and salvation without personal
merit freely granted for another’s sake. Much of Mr. Mattoon’s time
was now given to the work of making a revised translation of the New
Testament into Siamese.
In 1854 a Mormon missionary found his way to Siam, but, meeting no
encouragement, soon withdrew. The Siamese did not need any urging to
the practice of polygamy.
Prof. Silsby left Siam in May of this year, and Mr. J. H. Chandler and
wife returned, and with them came the Rev. Robert Telford and wife to
assist in the Chinese department of the Baptist mission.
In January, 1855, Dr. Lane of the A. M. A., on account of the health
of his family, and Miss Morse of the Baptist mission, took their final
leave of Siam.
The time was now at hand when Siam, so long secluded and almost
unknown, was to enter more fully into the family of nations by
treaties of commerce and friendship with the great powers of the West.
Sir John Bowring, then governor of Hong Kong, arrived March, 1855, as
British ambassador to the court of Siam, and was cordially welcomed by
the king, with whom he had previously been in friendly correspondence.
Aided by his able secretary of legation, Consul Parkes (now Sir Harry
Parkes, British minister to Pekin), in one short month, in one week of
actual negotiation, he overturned the customs and prejudices of
centuries, and had conceded to him by the enlightened ruler of the
land and his ministers of state the abolition of all the government
monopolies of articles of trade, the removal of the old foolish
prohibition of the export of rice and teak-wood, moderate duties on
imports, the residence of consuls to protect the interests of their
countrymen, and liberty for British subjects to travel and take up
land in the country. This treaty opened the way for all subsequent
treaties with other nations, and so opened Siam to the commerce of the
world.
Dr. House availed himself, when the embassy left Siam, of the
courteous offer of a free passage to Singapore, to make a brief visit
to his native land to seek for the reinforcements his mission so
greatly needed. While at home he was ordained and married, and,
re-embarking with Mrs. House and the Rev. A. B. Morse and wife,
reached Bangkok again in July, 1856, greatly to the joy of the
solitary mission family that with faith and patience unwearied had
been “holding the fort.”
Meanwhile, a month or two before, our United States government had by
its ambassador, Townsend Harris, Esq., negotiated a treaty almost
identical with the British, and, to the great satisfaction of the
Siamese, Mr. Mattoon was appointed consul. Dr. William M. Wood, late
surgeon-general U. S. Navy, who accompanied the embassy, testifies in
his book, _Fankwei_, that the “unselfish kindness of the American
missionaries, their patience, sincerity and truthfulness, have won the
confidence and esteem of the natives, and in some degree transferred
those sentiments to the nation represented by the missions, and
prepared the way for the free national intercourse now commencing. It
was very evident that much of the apprehension they felt in taking
upon themselves the responsibilities of a treaty with us would be
diminished if they could have the Rev. Mr. Mattoon as the first U. S.
consul to set the treaty in motion.” Mr. Mattoon accepted the office,
however, only till a successor should be appointed at Washington.
Meanwhile, his mission-work――preaching, translating, etc.――was not
intermitted.
In 1856 the schools reported forty-seven in attendance, and every
department of the work was in successful operation.
Another station in Bangkok being thought desirable, and a large lot
with broad frontage on the river on its west bank in the lower suburbs
of the city becoming available, it was secured, and Mr. Morse (a
bamboo cottage being put up for his temporary residence) removed there
and commenced building a brick dwelling-house. Ere its walls were half
up he was completely prostrated by disease, and forced, to the great
regret of his associates, to leave the field and the work he loved,
and for which he was so well qualified. Previous to his leaving, Mrs.
Mattoon, finding an American ship loading at Bangkok to sail direct
for the United States in March of this year, had availed herself of
the opportunity to make a visit home for rest and to recruit her
strength, exhausted by ten years’ toil in a tropical climate.
It being necessary to go on and complete the building begun by Mr.
Morse, and the new premises there having the advantage of carrying on
some departments of missionary work, and not being subject to
ground-rent, as was the other place, it was deemed best to give up the
upper station, dispose of the buildings there and establish the
Presbyterian mission permanently on the newly-purchased ground. The
removal of the mission to the new station, four miles below, was made
in November, 1857, and another dwelling-house immediately commenced.
This was nearly completed when, June 20, 1858, the Rev. Jonathan
Wilson and wife and the Rev. Daniel McGilvary arrived. Messrs. W. and
McG. had been room-mates at Princeton Seminary; while there had both
felt the claims upon them of missionary work, and had become much
interested in Siam; but after graduating Mr. McGilvary was called to
become pastor over a church in North Carolina, and Mr. Wilson had gone
out as a missionary to the Choctaw Indians. Years passed, and each had
been led by the pressing needs of the field to offer himself to the
Board for service there, and most gratifying was it to find that they
were to be sent out together.
The number of ordained ministers now warranted the formation of a
Presbytery, and the Presbytery of Siam was duly constituted September
1, 1858.
In the study of the language, aiding in the instruction of the pupils
in the boarding-school and in tract-distribution the new brethren
found enough to busy them.
In January, 1859, the Rev. S. Mattoon, who had then for some twelve
years without intermission borne the burden and heat of the day,
returned to the United States for the much-needed change, rejoining
his family there.
Signs of more than usual religious interest appeared about this time,
and one of the native teachers, Nai Chune, applied for Christian
baptism. So deep, however, was the duplicity of this people generally,
and so many who professed interest in the teachings of the gospel had
proved to be influenced by purely selfish motives, that when this case
of genuine conviction of the truth occurred, just what they had been
hoping and praying for so long, the brethren distrusted the sincerity
of the man, and put him off from week to week until fairly compelled
to admit that the miracle of converting grace had actually been
wrought even in a Siamese, and they could no longer forbid water that
he should be baptized. The day of Nai Chune’s baptism (August 7, 1859)
was to them a jubilee indeed. With tears of joy they gathered in at
last, after more than twelve years of toil unblest, the first-fruits
of their labor among the Siamese.
It was singular that this same year (in December) the mission should
lose its first church-member――Quakieng, the faithful, consistent
Chinese native assistant. He was attacked by cholera and died,
commending his departing spirit to his heavenly Father. With his death
the Hokien-Chinese instruction in the mission-school ceased, and soon
after the teaching of the Hainan Chinese in their native tongue. The
school was too well established now to need to hold out this
inducement to attract pupils.
The cholera was quite prevalent in April, and Mrs. Wilson nearly
became a victim. Other diseases set in, and she lingered on the
borders of the spirit-land till July 10th, when she closed a blameless
Christian life and entered into the home of the blessed with words of
rapture on her lips.
The stricken band in the Presbyterian mission were greatly cheered and
strengthened two months after by the return (September 15th) of Mr.
Mattoon and family, and with them the Rev. N. A. McDonald and the Rev.
S. G. McFarland and their wives.
Up to this time the Presbyterian mission had been dependent for its
printing upon sister-missions, but now a press of its own, sent out by
the Board, was set up and soon in successful operation. A year or two
later it reported an issue of more than half a million of pages
annually.
In December, Mr. McGilvary was married to Miss Sophia R. Bradley,
eldest daughter of Rev. D. B. Bradley, M. D., of the American
Missionary Association. This cool season Messrs. Wilson and McFarland
accompanied Mr. Telford of the Baptist Board on a trip for
distribution of Siamese and Chinese tracts down the east coast of the
gulf as far as Chantaboon.
With such an accession to the members of the Presbyterian mission as
they had lately received, it was now deemed that the time had come for
them to establish a new station somewhere outside of Bangkok, and
Petchaburee was fixed upon as its location. This is an important
inland town, some eighty-five miles south-west from the capital city,
situated in the midst of charming scenery in a fertile and populous
district of country. The acting governor of the province favored the
having a station there, and offered every assistance; and this in a
place where the authorities treated very uncivilly the first
missionaries who visited it, and arrested those who received books at
their hands. Ground having been purchased and the house they had
secured made ready for them, in June, 1861, Messrs. McGilvary and
McFarland, with their families, removed to Petchaburee. Another
dwelling-house was soon under way, and a school opened on the
premises, with the sons of the governor and lieutenant-governor
enrolled among the pupils.
The name Petchaburee signifies the “city of diamonds,” and soon after
their arrival the missionaries found there, in the midst of the
rubbish of heathen superstition and idolatry, a gem, a living stone of
priceless value, that has since been taken to shine doubtless in the
Redeemer’s crown. It was a native Siamese, Nai Kawn by name, from a
village near, who called upon them to place his son under their
instruction. The lad already knew the Ten Commandments and the Lord’s
Prayer. The father himself surprised them by his facility in quoting
Scripture, repeating whole chapters of Romans; and on conversing with
him it appeared that, though he had never seen a missionary, from some
two or three portions of the Scripture and a few Christian tracts that
had fallen in his hands, taught by the Spirit of God, he had gained,
and accepted too, a wonderfully clear view of salvation by faith in
the Lord Jesus Christ. Gladly he received other portions of the New
and Old Testament, and, further instructed, he became a fearless and
efficient witness for the truth before his countrymen of high and low
degree.
The brethren at Petchaburee, with the freest access to the Siamese
everywhere, found a peculiarly inviting field of labor among a colony
of Laos numbering ten thousand or so, settled near them. These people,
adherents of a prince who had failed in his struggle for the throne,
had fled in a body from their own land in the far north-east some
eighty years before, and, seeking refuge in the dominion of the king
of Siam, had been assigned a home and lands in this fertile province.
They were made serfs of the king, however, and much of the time had to
work for their new royal master. A preaching-place was secured in one
of their villages, and these toiling exiles seemed to be interested
hearers of the word.
But to return to Bangkok. In December, 1861, Esther, a young native
woman who had been brought up in the family of Mrs. Mattoon, was
baptized,――the first native female member of the Presbyterian
mission-church of Siam.
On February, 2, 1862, the Rev. S. C. George and wife, who had been
sent out by the Presbyterian Board, arrived in Bangkok. Mrs. George
was a sister of Mrs. Johnson, one of the noble company of martyred
missionaries put to death by Nana Sahib’s orders at Cawnpore. Much
faithful colporteur work in the city and suburbs was done this year by
Mr. Wilson, and mission-tours were made to Camburi and Prabat by him
and other missionaries. A neat mission-chapel which had been built on
the mission premises without drawing upon the funds of the Board was
opened for divine service in May. In December, Messrs. McDonald and
House, with Mr. Telford of the Baptist mission, made a coasting-trip
to Chantaboon, distributing many Siamese and Chinese books and tracts
there and at other places visited on the way.
The first fruit of the labor of the Petchaburee missionaries was
gathered in February, 1863, when Kao, a young Siamese of much promise,
was baptized. He had entered Mr. McFarland’s service that he might
acquire a knowledge of English, but he was instructed also in the way
of life, and learned that which made him wise unto salvation. One
short month, and he left his dying testimony to the excellence of the
new religion he had embraced. Called away by sudden and severe
illness, his last words were, “Why do you weep? I am not afraid to
die. I love the Lord Jesus. I am going to heaven. My heart is happy.”
There were others in Petchaburee who soon after had the courage to
renounce Buddhism and publicly avow themselves Christians. May 10,
1863, a Siamese man and his wife, who had been long in Mr. McGilvary’s
employ, and a young Siamo-Chinese in Mr. McFarland’s, were baptized
and a church organized in Petchaburee. It was an occasion of great and
joyful interest to the brethren there.
In May the Rev. Robert Telford and wife of the Baptist mission, after
nine years’ labor among the Chinese of Siam, were obliged to leave
Siam in quest of health, embarking for China.
Mr. McGilvary, in his labors for their spiritual good, had become so
much interested in the Laos people settled near him in Petchaburee
that he was anxious to learn if something could not be done for the
evangelization of the hundreds of thousands of Laos in the tributary
states to the north, as yet unreached by the gospel. Accordingly, with
the consent of the mission, he made in that cool season, with Mr.
Wilson, an exploring-tour to the hitherto unvisited North Laos
country, journeying partly by boat, partly on elephants, as far as
Cheung Mai, the capital. The travelers were well received by the
authorities, and after an absence of eleven weeks returned strongly
impressed with the practicability and desirableness of establishing a
mission among that interesting people.
The varied work of the mission at the two stations was carried on as
in former years, some engaged in the boys’ school, others having
charge of the printing-press or translating the Scriptures or
preparing tracts and catechisms, maintaining the preaching-services,
conversing with visitors, distributing tracts or medicines,
vaccinating native children, studying the language with native
teachers, or conducting the daily morning service, which all on the
mission premises or in mission employ were required to attend, and
when, with the brief exposition of the Scripture read, much religious
instruction was given. The wives of the missionaries also did much for
the instruction of the native females in their families and
neighborhoods in reading and sewing and in Bible-classes on the
Sabbath.
In February, 1864, Dr. and Mrs. House left on a visit to the United
States, the state of Mrs. House’s health requiring it; and a few
months later Mrs. Mattoon, whose asthmatic trouble had returned, was
compelled to take her final leave of Siam. Her husband remained to
finish the important work on which he had long been engaged of making
a revised translation of the New Testament into Siamese. Mr. Wilson,
whose health had become impaired, accompanied Mrs. Mattoon and her
children to America.
In December, 1864, the Rev. Dr. Dean, whose shattered constitution had
been restored by eleven years’ sojourn in his native land, gladly
returned (with Mrs. Dean, Miss F. Dean and the Rev. C. H. Chilcott) to
take charge again of the Baptist Board’s mission-work for the Chinese
and of the Chinese church in Bangkok, which he had founded. Mr.
Chilcott was removed by death before he had entered on the second year
of his missionary life.
In December, 1865, the Rev. S. Mattoon took his final and regretful
leave of the land and the people for whose good he had labored so long
and so faithfully――a loss to the community as well as to the mission.
From the date of his embarkation for the field to that of his arrival
in the United States on his return was just twenty years.
April 4, 1866, the Rev. P. L. Carden and wife arrived to join the
Presbyterian mission, and in July the Rev. J. Wilson returned with
Mrs. Kate M. Wilson. In July also came Miss A. M. Fielde, to be
connected with the Chinese department of the Baptist mission. Dr. and
Mrs. House returned in December from their visit home, with health
renewed.
The industrial school for girls in Petchaburee, which has since
brought so many of the women and girls of that city under daily
Christian instruction and training in habits of neatness and industry,
commenced by Mrs. McFarland the year previous, was now an established
success. The boys’ boarding-school at Bangkok prospered under Mr.
George’s superintendence. The fall of 1866 was a season of marked
religious interest at the Bangkok station; there were several decided
cases of conversion, and a daily prayer-meeting instituted by the
converts was well sustained.
In 1867 (October 1) the missionaries write: “During the past twelve
months more additions have been made to the native church than in all
the previous years of its history.” Eleven had been received at
Bangkok and four at Petchaburee――nine of the number pupils of the
mission-schools.
This year (1867) was memorable as witnessing the commencement of the
Presbyterian mission in North Laos. On the 3d of January its pioneer
missionary, the Rev. Daniel McGilvary, with his family, embarked on
what was to prove a three months’ voyage up the Menam. Having, besides
the strong current of the river, no less than thirty-two decided
rapids to surmount in their boats, it was not till the 1st of April
that Cheung Mai, their destination, was reached. The king gave them a
friendly reception and provided them with a temporary home. Numbers
visited them daily, and gradually they acquired the confidence of the
people, who heard them gladly. The year following the Rev. Jonathan
Wilson and wife undertook the formidable journey, and left Bangkok to
join the McGilvarys at Cheung Mai. Not long after their arrival,
during a visit of Dr. House to the new mission, a church was organized
in that remote heathen city, with many an earnest prayer that the
“little one might become a thousand.” On his way thither over the Laos
Mountains, Dr. House had a narrow escape from death. The elephant on
which he had been riding unexpectedly turned upon him, struck him down
with its trunk and then wounded him severely whilst attempting to
transfix him with its tusks.
In May, 1868, the Rev. P. L. Carden, who had lastly been stationed at
Petchaburee, was obliged to withdraw from the field on account of the
serious illness of his wife. This year the Rev. Samuel J. Smith and
wife (formerly Mrs. Dr. Jones), who had been so long connected with
the American Baptist Board, became self-supporting, Mr. Smith having
charge of a large printing-establishment and a weekly English
newspaper, but maintaining Sabbath preaching and other services in
Siamese, and Mrs. Smith, able and indefatigable as a teacher and
writer, doing much in the work of instruction and in other ways for
the good of Siam.
As Mr. Chandler’s connection with the Board had been severed some ten
years before, the Siamese department of the Baptist mission ceased now
to exist.
An unusually protracted total eclipse of the sun was to occur this
year in August, and the Siamese dominions afforded the very best place
in the world to observe it. His Majesty the king of Siam, himself a
practical astronomer and very fond of the science, generously invited
the French astronomical expedition to be his guests on the
occasion――the governor of Singapore also, and the foreigners in
Bangkok generally, including the missionaries. He went himself with
his entire court, with quite a fleet of steamers, down the west coast
of the gulf, some two hundred miles, to Hua Wan, the point selected,
where the jungle had been cleared and a bamboo palace with other
buildings had been put up, expending upon his right royal
hospitalities in the whole affair about ninety-six thousand dollars. A
malarial fever taken there brought on, not long after his return to
his capital, the death of this martyr to science, the most enlightened
of all the sovereigns of Asia. He died with Buddha’s last words as the
last upon his lips: “All that exists is unreliable.” He used to say to
the missionaries, “The sciences I receive, astronomy, geology,
chemistry,――these I receive; the Christian religion I do not receive;
many of your countrymen do not receive it.” And now he died as the
philosopher dieth, stepping out into the darkness beyond, on which
neither science nor Buddhism shed a ray-of light or gleam of comfort.
As he had chosen to live without God in the world, so he died without
hope――the blessed hope of eternal life which sustains the dying
Christian, and might have been his. In the death of the king the
missionaries lost, some of them, a kind personal friend and
“well-wisher,” as he used to sign himself, and all a friendly-disposed,
liberal-minded sovereign, who put no obstacles in the way of their
evangelizing his people.
The king’s eldest son, Prince Chulalongkorn, then a youth of fifteen
years only, was made his successor by the unanimous choice of the
grandees of the realm. His royal father prized too highly the
knowledge and all that came to him through the study of English not to
have his heir-apparent taught that tongue. So from his early boyhood
an English governess had been provided for him and his numerous
brothers and sisters. From this accomplished lady he doubtless derived
many excellent ideas and principles, though by the terms of her
engagement she was expressly forbidden to teach Christianity to any in
the palace. After she left Siam he was for several months under the
tuition of Mr. Chandler.
The young king won golden opinions from the missionaries――who sought
an early audience to express their condolence, congratulations and
best wishes――by his prepossessing manners, his intelligence and the
evident sincerity of his assurances of good-will.
During his minority the affairs of the kingdom were successfully
administered by the regent, the one who had been prime minister during
the late reign――a man of great executive ability. The conservatism of
this ablest and wisest statesman of Siam was perhaps a needful check
upon what were possibly too strong tendencies toward reform in the
youthful sovereign, who would fain have abolished slavery for debt and
suppressed gambling by an immediate decree. But his minority was well
improved. He was the first ruler of Siam to break over the
superstition that would prevent his setting foot outside of his own
dominions, and before he was twenty had visited other countries――the
first year Singapore and Java; in a subsequent one, British Burmah,
Calcutta, Bombay, and other cities of British India――intelligently
observing everything, and returning with many ideas of improvements to
be made at home.
In January, 1869, the missionaries were reinforced by the addition of
the Rev. James W. Van Dyke and the Rev. John Carrington and their
wives to the Presbyterian mission, and Rev. S. B. Partridge to the
Baptist. Mr. Van Dyke was assigned at once to the Petchaburee station
as a colleague to Mr. McFarland, then laboring alone. Mr. Carrington
remained at Bangkok, and while acquiring the language gave valuable
assistance in the school.
At the Laos mission the brethren had much to encourage them. The king
of Cheung Mai had granted them a spacious lot of ground on the
river-bank for their homes; the gospel truth they preached was working
in the hearts of those who heard it, and one, whose heart had been won
before, when the falsity of his own sacred books’ scientific teachings
had been shown by the fulfillment of the foreign teachers’ prediction
of the great eclipse, was brave enough to renounce Buddhism and
receive Christian baptism. The name of this first convert was Nan
Intah. Others too were brought out of darkness into light, till in the
first seven months of the year 1869 seven converts were baptized.
But a storm was gathering, soon to burst upon them. The king, a brave
warrior, but a narrow-minded, arbitrary, superstitious ruler, who had
never comprehended their true errand, though apparently friendly, when
he saw they were beginning to draw his people over to the new faith
determined to uproot it from his dominions. He first attempted to get
rid of the missionaries themselves, forwarding a complaint against
them to the authorities at Bangkok and requesting their removal. The
nature of the charge so illustrates the superstition of the people and
the character of the man that the story of it must be given.
On the 31st of March, 1869, there was received at the U. S. consulate
a communication of which the following is a literal translation: “Chow
Phya Pooterapai, Minister of the Interior, begs to inform the acting
consul of the United States of America that Pra Chow Kawilorot, the
king of Cheung Mai, has sent down letters to Prince Hluang Hluang and
the Prime Minister and myself, the purport of all being the same――viz.
that whereas in former times the principalities of Cheung Mai and
Lampang and Lampoon had never been subject to visitation of famine,
now for two years――the year of the Tiger [1866-67] and the year of the
Rabbit [1867-68]――there has been a scarcity of rice. It is evident
that what has befallen the country is because in these lands, where no
foreigner ever before had come to live permanently, now at this time
the missionary McGilvary, who has come as a teacher of religion, had
taken up his residence in Cheung Mai. Hence these calamities have come
upon them. He, the king of Cheung Mai, begs that the consul be made to
issue an order withdrawing [lit. “pulling up”] the missionary
McGilvary and requiring his return. What is proper to be done in this
matter? You are requested to take the subject into consideration.”
To this letter Mr. McDonald, who, singularly enough, happened to be
acting U. S. consul at that time, under date of April 1st replied
substantially as follows: “He has received the communication of His
Excellency the Minister of Foreign Affairs forwarding the complaint of
the king of Cheung Mai, alleging Mr. McGilvary to be the cause of the
famine in his dominions and requesting his removal. In reply he begs
to say that it strikes him as rather singular to attribute the famine
during the year of the Tiger [1866-67] to Mr. McG.’s taking up his
residence in Cheung Mai, inasmuch as the scant harvest of that year
had already been reaped before Mr. McG. had arrived, or even left
Bangkok to go up to Cheung Mai, for it was not till Jan. 3, 1867, that
he set out on his journey. And this year [1868-69], though Mr. McG. is
still at Cheung Mai, we have tidings of an abundant harvest there.
Moreover, in 1865-66, Korat and other towns in that quarter
experienced a severe famine, and yet no foreigner had ever resided in
that region of country. Orders will be given to Mr. McGilvary so to
deport himself that no famine can be attributed to him hereafter; but
as to his (the consul’s) being required to withdraw Mr. McG. and
constrain him to return, it would be manifestly wrong. His Excellency
(the Minister of the Interior) and the Siamese government gave consent
to Mr. McG.’s going up to Cheung Mai, and he went on the invitation of
the king of Cheung Mai himself also. Moreover, he has expended on the
removal of his family and goods no small amount of money. That he (the
consul) should be asked to recall Mr. McG., and constrain him to
return, without any transgression of the laws alleged against him――in
fact, without any reason whatever――would not be right. The consul
trusts His Excellency will duly consider this matter, and that his
views may accord with what is just and right in the case.”
The Minister of the Interior in his reply, dated April 3d, states that
“his views coincide with the consul’s. Mr. McG. had in no respect
offended against any of the laws of the country. His Excellency has
some solicitude about the matter, however, inasmuch as the king of
Cheung Mai is a difficult man to deal with, being often arbitrary and
unscrupulous. He is constrained to say this much, that the consul may
be apprised of the true state of things.”
The warning was kindly given, but at Cheung Mai the king, failing in
this attempt to have the foreign teachers expelled, concealed his
hostility to them and their work, and outwardly all went on as usual.
Meanwhile, the truth was working in the hearts of not a few who heard
it, and the truth made them brave to confess their newfound Lord and
Saviour. In seven months from the time when Nan Intah had been
received six more Laos men had professed themselves Christians and
been baptized. Then suddenly the storm that had been long gathering
burst upon the infant church. On the 12th Sept., 1869, two of the
newly-made converts were seized by orders from the king on some false
pretext, painfully pinioned, and after a night’s imprisonment, without
trial, barbarously put to death, being beaten with clubs on the neck,
one of them pierced also with a spear. “Faithful unto death,” who can
doubt they have received from the Lord Jesus, to whom dying they
commended their departing spirits, the crown of life, the martyr’s
crown, for they were as true martyrs as any who were slain in the
cruel Nero’s day? The other five church-members, taking flight,
contrived to secrete themselves from those who “sought their lives to
destroy them.”
The situation of the missionaries themselves was now perilous in the
extreme. They and their wives and their little ones were in the hands
of a merciless, self-willed, reckless, bigoted despot, who hated them
and their doctrines, and were five hundred miles away from consular or
other aid. Succeeding at last in getting a letter to their friends at
Bangkok, the brethren of the mission, startled by the tidings, and not
knowing indeed if the Laos missionaries were yet in the land of the
living, hastened to lay the matter before the regent. He kindly
promised to despatch a special commissioner to Cheung Mai at once with
any missionaries that might go, with stringent orders that the
missionaries there and their families receive from the Laos
authorities the protection the treaty between Siam and the United
States guaranteed them. He declined, however, to interfere in behalf
of the native Christians.
Messrs. McDonald and George bravely volunteered on behalf of the
mission to go to the comfort and aid of their brethren in peril, and
set out on the long journey, proceeding by boat to Rahang, thence
traveling over the Laos mountains on elephants with the Siamese
commissioner and his attendants. In a stormy interview which the
missionaries had with the king in the presence of the commissioner he
was forced to admit that the two men had been put to death because
they had become Christians, and he avowed his set purpose “to kill all
his people who should do the same.” As to the missionaries, “they
might remain, as the Siamese government had so ordered, but they must
not teach religion nor make Christians.”
The future of the Laos misson did indeed look dark, and there seemed
to be no alternative but to withdraw from the land while this king
reigned. But he who was thus “breathing out threatenings and
slaughter” speedily had his power for evil taken from him and was
called to his account by a higher Power. Soon after, during a visit he
made early in the year 1870 to Bangkok to attend the imposing
ceremonies at the cremation of his late suzerain, the king of Siam, he
was taken ill. His sickness increasing, he hastened home, but did not
live to enter again the walls of his capital, and the supreme power
passed into the hands of the second king, his son-in-law, who from the
first, with his truly noble queen, had been kindly disposed to the
missionaries.
In February, 1870, Mr. McDonald, whose health had become seriously
impaired, found it necessary to visit the United States, and left Siam
with his family. A young Siamese who accompanied them, giving evidence
of true conversion, was baptized by Mr. McDonald during his sojourn in
America.
In April, 1871, Mrs. House was obliged to make a trip for a season to
the more temperate clime of the United States, and, leaving her
husband at his post, returned alone. This year C. W. Vrooman, M. D.,
was sent out as a medical missionary to the Laos. Proceeding to Cheung
Mai after the rains, during his stay of a year and a half he
accomplished a good work for the mission. Oct. 11, 1871, Miss Fielde
of the Baptist mission to the Chinese left Siam, eventually to join
the mission of the Board in Swatow, China.
Toward the close of this year Mr. McDonald and family returned to
Siam, and with them the Rev. R. Arthur and wife, the Rev. J.
Culbertson and Miss E. S. Dickey. Miss Dickey proved a most efficient
and acceptable teacher in the mission-school at Bangkok, and
subsequently at Petchaburee. The last day of 1871 brought back to
Siam, his native land, the Rev. Cornelius Bradley and wife, to be
associated with his father in the mission-work of the American
Missionary Association.
In June, 1872, Ayuthia, the ancient capital of Siam, and still a town
of considerable importance, was occupied as a missionary station by
the Rev. J. Carrington and family, Mr. and Mrs. Arthur joining them
before the expiration of the year. At Petchaburee their new chapel was
dedicated with interesting services in August. In October, 1872,
twenty church-members were reported at Petchaburee, and eighteen at
Bangkok. In December, Mrs. House returned from her health-trip to
America, accompanied by Miss Arabella Anderson.
The women of the Presbyterian Church at home were now waking up to
realize their special privilege and duty to work and give and pray for
the women and children of benighted heathen lands. The ladies of the
Troy branch of the Albany Synodical Missionary Society, from which two
laborers had gone out to Siam, becoming thus particularly interested
in that country, had undertaken to establish a female boarding-school
at Bangkok, and raised three thousand dollars for that purpose. A
little before this a lot of ground on the west bank of the river,
nearly opposite the palace of the second king, some five miles above
the lower station, had been secured by the mission, and a
dwelling-house partially completed on it. Mr. and Mrs. George, who
were to have occupied it as a new station, having to return to the
home-land, Mrs. George’s health failing, the Board tendered the place
and the building to the Troy ladies for their school purposes, on
condition of their investing their own funds in the building and
completing it. They accordingly took possession, Dr. and Mrs. House
and Miss Anderson occupying it in December, 1873. The school was
opened in May, 1874, in charge of Mrs. House and Miss Anderson, and by
the close of the year had a large number of boarding pupils, some of
them noblemen’s daughters.
The year 1873 witnessed a great diminution of the number of the
missionaries of the Presbyterian Board. In January the Rev. S. C.
George, after eleven years’ service as teacher, preacher and
translator, left with Mrs. George, as has been already stated.
February 8th the Rev. S. G. McFarland and his wife, after twelve and a
half years of faithful and exhausting but successful labor for this
heathen people’s good, sought their much-needed and well-earned rest
in their native land. April 19th the Rev. D. McGilvary of the Laos
mission, who had been nearly fifteen years in the field, sailed from
Bangkok with his family to revisit his friends and the churches in the
United States. By the same steamer Miss Dickey also left, to find in
the North China mission a more congenial climate. Aug. 12th, Dr.
Vrooman sailed, having withdrawn from the Laos mission in June. Aug.
25th the Arthurs embarked for the United States, Mrs. Arthur’s health
having failed entirely.
But the great loss to Siam this year was by the death of the
missionary of longest service in the field――the Rev. D. B. Bradley, M.
D., who rested from his unceasing and varied labors for Siam and the
Siamese, continued for thirty-nine years with undiminished faith and
zeal, on the 23d of June.
During the months of June and July the cholera prevailed, carrying off
in twenty days over five thousand victims, among them the eldest son
of Mr. McDonald. In November, Maa Tuan, the eldest daughter of
Quakieng, the former Chinese assistant, was received to church
membership; two of his sons were afterward admitted. A translation of
_Pilgrim’s Progress_, made by the native elder of the Bangkok church,
was printed this year and was in large demand.
The recoronation of the king took place in November, he having now
obtained his majority. On taking the reins of government into his own
hands, prompted by his own noble instincts, his inherited love of
progress and sincere desire for the good of his people, he boldly
ventured upon reforms that were startling to his old courtiers, and
indeed to all who had known Old Siam. His coronation-day was marked by
the abolition of the degrading custom practiced for centuries of
requiring those of inferior rank to crouch and crawl on all fours like
spaniels in the presence of their superiors. A still more remarkable
change he sought to introduce was the giving up of some of his
absolute power as sovereign, by creating a council of state and also a
privy council, before whom all public measures were to be brought and
discussed and approved before they could be decreed by the king as
laws. In carrying out these and other well-planned reforms he
received, however, but little sympathy from the old ex-regent and his
party.
In 1874, to the great regret of all, the Rev. C. B. Bradley was
compelled to leave the, to him, debilitating climate of Siam. With his
family he embarked for California March 8th. Upon his departure the
American Missionary Association withdrew altogether from the field,
making over to the family of Dr. Bradley the mission premises and the
printing-establishment. This last, in fact, had been built up by the
energy and skill and labor of Dr. Bradley, and its earnings had for
many years more than paid all the expenses of the mission.
The Presbyterian Board was now the only Board left to provide for the
spiritual needs of the Siamese people. Would that the Church whose
agent that Board is could be made to realize the blessedness of the
privilege committed to her if improved, and the responsibility she
incurs if unfaithful to her duty to these myriads of dying men and
women!
Mr. Carrington too was forced by protracted illness in his family to
take his final leave of Siam.
In the fall of 1874, Mr. and Mrs. McGilvary of the Laos mission,
returning from their visit to America, arrived in Bangkok, and, being
joined by Marion A. Cheek, M. D., the newly-appointed medical
missionary to these people, who came out by a later steamer early in
1875, embarked for their remote post at Cheung Mai.
Under Dr. Cheek’s escort Miss Mary L. Cort and Miss Susie D. Grimstead
had come to join the Siam mission. Both were assigned to the station
at Petchaburee. There Miss Cort has remained ever since, in labors
abundant and manifold and with zeal and courage untiring.
Among the converts reported in 1875 was one long in the employ of the
different missions as a printer, who had hardened his heart against
the truths he had through the press helped make known to others, and
grown old in sin, now constrained to yield to those truths and enter
on a Christian life. Two sons of the old native Chinese assistant,
Quakieng, who died in 1859, were also received, and the younger became
a candidate for the ministry.
In April, Mrs. McDonald embarked for the United States with her
children, to provide for their education there, her husband remaining
at his post, preaching, superintending the press and translating the
Scriptures of the Old Testament.
Oct. 19, 1875, the Rev. S. G. McFarland and Mrs. McFarland returned to
Siam, and with them came the Rev. Eugene P. Dunlap and wife. On their
way down the China Sea they encountered a typhoon and for many hours
were in imminent danger.
Dr. Cheek was married in December to Miss Sarah A. Bradley, daughter
of the late Rev. D. B. Bradley, M. D., and in February, 1876, Miss
Arabella Anderson was married to the Rev. Henry V. Noyes of the
Presbyterian mission in Canton, and left with him, to return to Siam
no more. The place she had so well filled in the girls’ boarding-school
at Bangkok was taken by Miss Grimstead. The number of pupils then in
attendance was twenty.
The health of Mrs. House had now become so seriously impaired by eight
months’ continuance of severe attacks of asthma that her longer stay
in Siam was out of the question, and she was reluctantly obliged to
hand over to others her cherished work of female education and the
school for girls, now in successful operation. With like regret did
her husband leave the people and the country for whose good nearly
thirty years of his life had been given. Dr. and Mrs. H. left for home
in March, 1876, taking with them two Siamese lads of eleven to be
educated in the United States under their care.
Their departure made necessary the coming over of Mr. and Mrs. Van
Dyke from Petchaburee to take charge of the upper station at Bangkok
and assist Miss Grimstead in the management of the girls’ school. This
same year, in June, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, with health quite broken by
exhausting labor in their Laos mission, had to go to the United States
to rest and recover strength. Mr. W. improved the opportunity to
procure in America the casting of a font of Laos type――no easy task.
At Cheung Mai this year the widow of one of the martyrs was baptized
with her two daughters, and Nan Intah, the first Laos convert, had the
happiness of seeing his wife and son-in-law received to the church,
and not long after two daughters and a son.
In 1877 the first Siamese convert baptized in the Presbyterian
mission, Nai Chune, was called to depart. He died as one who “_knew_
in whom he believed,” and said in parting from the missionary friend
who visited him, “I must go first, but I will be waiting at the gate
to welcome the rest of you when you come.” This year Mr. McDonald
rejoined his family in the United States, returning with them the year
following. The state of Miss Grimstead’s health compelled her return
to America and the severance of her connection with the Board. The
native churches received large accessions during the year, thirteen
being added to the Bangkok church, twenty to the Petchaburee and ten
to the church at Cheung Mai, making the total number of communicants
in Siam one hundred and four, and in Laos nineteen. The king of Siam
manifested his interest in the work of female education by the
generous gift of a thousand dollars toward the building for this
purpose the mission was erecting at Petchaburee. This sum was
handsomely supplemented by twelve hundred and sixty dollars more,
contributed by some of the higher princes and nobles.
Early in the year 1878 the Rev. J. M. McCanby arrived, and Miss Jennie
Korsen――the last to take Miss Grimstead’s place in the girls’
boarding-school. The Rev. S. G. McFarland, D. D., withdrew this year
from his connection with the mission, having been invited by His
Majesty to take the presidency of the newly-planned King’s College at
Bangkok. The mission press during the twelve months, under Mr.
Culbertson’s energetic supervision, issued over a million pages of
Scripture and other truth.
In October, 1878, Mr. Wilson, leaving Mrs. W. in America, as her
health did not admit of her accompanying him, embarked on his return,
and under his escort three lady missionary teachers――Miss Belle
Caldwell for Siam, and Miss Edna S. Cole and Miss Mary Campbell for
the Laos. Miss Korsen becoming Mrs. McCauley and removing to the lower
station to assist her husband in charge of the boys’ school, Miss
Caldwell took her place at the school for girls. The boys’ school
under the McCauleys had a membership of fifty-five, and good progress
was made in study.
An appeal having been made to the king of Siam by the missionaries to
the Laos in behalf of certain oppressed native Christians, he was
graciously pleased to issue (Sept. 29, 1878) a proclamation
establishing religious toleration in Laos, and by implication
throughout all his dominions.
Under the direction of the Presbytery of Siam two new churches were
organized this year――one at the upper station of Bangkok, the other at
Bangkaboon, a fishing-village near Petchaburee. The native Christians
at Bangkok by their contributions provided for the erection of a house
for the native preacher at Ayuthia, and the entire support of another
assistant there. The total church-membership in Siam now was one
hundred and thirty-three, and in Laos thirty-one.
Miss Mary E. Hartwell, who arrived with the McDonalds early in 1879,
assisted Miss Caldwell in the girls’ boarding-school, and Miss Hattie
H. McDonald, who was now under appointment as a missionary teacher,
taught in the boys’ school, which came under her father’s supervision
when the McCauleys, who had been in charge, were compelled to remove
to Petchaburee by the departure thence, in consequence of their
failing health, of Mr. and Mrs. Dunlap, who had been there of late.
The Dunlaps returned to the United States in November.
The lady teachers at Petchaburee, Misses Coffman and Cort, had then
under their care seven different schools in and near that city,
numbering nearly two hundred pupils. At Cheung Mai the new missionary
teachers soon had in the school there, which Mrs. McGilvary had
commenced, twenty-five girls, eighteen of whom were boarding pupils.
Eighteen Laotian converts were reported this year. The Laos king,
finding the premises of the mission too limited, bought an adjacent
lot and generously presented it to the mission.
In February, 1880, Mr. Culbertson was married to Miss Caldwell. In
August, Ernest A. Sturge, M. D., sailed for Siam as a medical
missionary, to be stationed at Petchaburee, and later in the year the
Board sent out to the Siam mission the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. C. S.
McClelland, with Miss Laura A. Olmstead. Miss Olmstead became Miss
Hartwell’s associate in the girls’ school, and the McClellands went to
Petchaburee. Mr. McCauley’s constitution not enduring a tropical
climate, he had, with his wife, to be transferred this year to the
mission of the Presbyterian Board in Japan. The state of Mrs.
McGilvary’s health made a visit to the United States necessary for
her, and at the close of the year Mr. and Mrs. Van Dyke and family,
all seriously ill, after nearly twelve years’ residence in the
tropics, made their first visit home.
The boys’ school, under Miss H. H. McDonald, numbered sixty-seven, of
whom forty were boarding scholars. Notwithstanding the sad defection
of the native elder in the First Church, Bangkok, and the absence for
a while of any ordained missionary at Petchaburee, twenty-five new
converts were reported in Siam this year. To the church in Laos
thirty-nine were added, and in July a new church was constituted in
the midst of a cluster of villages about nine miles from Cheung Mai.
The Laos school, under Miss Cole’s care chiefly, now numbered
thirty-five, of whom twenty-two were boarders. Dr. McGilvary spent
several months this year at the frontier town of Rahang, where two
professed conversion, and in October he baptized six adults and
organized a church in Lakon, one of the chief cities of North Laos,
one hundred miles east of Cheung Mai.
In 1881, Mr. and Mrs. Culbertson left the field, Mrs. C. having lost
her health, and Dr. McGilvary in March left Cheung Mai to rejoin his
family in the United States. But one ordained missionary able to
preach in the native language was now left in Siam, and one in Laos.
Nor were any reinforcements sent out this year from home, though one
in the field, Miss Mary McDonald, the second daughter of the Rev. N.
A. McDonald, D. D., was appointed a missionary teacher. The new
missionaries at Petchaburee and the lady teachers there were greatly
tried by the contumacy and unchristian conduct of their oldest native
helper and other church-members, and they suffered severely at the
station from cholera, which prevailed as an epidemic. No less than
thirty-two pupils and others on the mission premises were attacked by
it. Dr. Sturge was the means of saving many lives in the town and
vicinity.
The untimely death of Miss Mary Campbell of the Laos mission, by
drowning in the Menam River, in February of this year, on her return
from a brief health-trip to Bangkok, brought sadness to many hearts in
America as well as in Siam.
And yet the year was not devoid of blessings. The schools prospered.
Two useful Christian tracts in Siamese, composed by native
church-members, were put in circulation. Dr. Sturge in September was
married to Miss Turner, who became a valuable accession to the station
at Petchaburee. One new church was formed in the Laos country, and no
less than fifty adults received Christian baptism there.
In 1882 the Laos mission were called to part with their first Laos
convert, long a model ruling elder, good old Nan Intah. Faithful and
true, with a beautiful, loving trust in his Saviour, he bade his
children and grandchildren a cheerful farewell, and went to be with
Christ. Dr. Cheek’s medical practice was this year greatly enlarged
and very successful. About thirteen thousand patients were prescribed
for, and thus much was done to break up their confidence in
spirit-doctors and their superstitious fears. Twenty-three were added
to the Laos churches.
In the Siam mission the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. McClelland were, by reason
of his continued illness, forced to give up their mission-work and
return to the United States. Miss Coffman and Miss Hattie McDonald
also were obliged to return in consequence of ill-health. The whole
burden of the schools in Petchaburee fell now upon Miss Cort. Dr.
Sturge treated four thousand five hundred and fifty-two cases――twice
the number of the previous year――and with the funds raised, mostly by
himself, had built a small hospital. The girls’ school, Bangkok, had
thirty-seven names on its roll. An exhibit of their skill and
industry, prepared for the Royal Centennial Exposition that came off
this year in commemoration of the founding of Bangkok, so pleased His
Majesty the king that he became the purchaser of the whole.
The greatly-needed reinforcements to the missions came this year, and
several who had been home to recruit their health returned. Mr. Van
Dyke sailed in July, leaving his wife with her children. In October,
Mr. and Mrs. Dunlap gladly went back to their work in Siam, and with
them, for the Siam mission, the Rev. C. D. and Mrs. McLaren and Miss
Lillian M. Luinell. By the same Pacific mail-steamer went Rev. Dr.
McGilvary and wife on their return to Laos, and as new recruits for
that field the Rev. J. Hearst and wife, the Rev. S. G. Peoples and the
Misses Griffin, Wirt, Wishard and Warner. On reaching Bangkok, the
whole party were very graciously received by the king, of whom they
obtained, through the U. S. minister to Siam, General Halderman, an
audience, and on December 13th the large company for Cheung Mai was on
its way up the river. The Baptist mission to the Chinese, that had now
for years been maintained in successful operation by the veteran
missionaries Dr. and Mrs. Dean, unaided save by native helpers, was at
last reinforced by the arrival of the Rev. L. A. Eaton, Dec. 15, 1882.
Mrs. Maria M. Dean, who for the benefit of her feeble health had been
constrained to leave her husband alone and visit the States in the
spring of 1881, was on the eve of returning to Siam when she was
suddenly called (January 16, 1883) to exchange earth for heaven.
The joy of those in the field at such a welcome addition to their
number as the opening year had brought them was, however, soon
diminished. In March, only four months after his arrival in Bangkok,
Mr. McLaren was snatched away by death, to the great regret of all,
for he was a man of unusual promise. The Laos party suffered greatly
from sickness after they reached Cheung Mai. Mr. Hearst was so
prostrated by malarial fever that he was obliged to leave the Laos
country, and, before the year was out, Siam itself for China and
Japan. In the latter country his health so greatly improved that he
hopes to remain and labor there. Dr. Cheek, with strength exhausted by
his long and arduous labors, greatly needed change and rest, and with
his family and Miss Edna Cole, whose health had become quite impaired,
left Siam for a visit to the United States, arriving in New York in
September, 1883.
Rev. Mr. Fulton of the Presbyterian mission in Canton was married to
Miss Wishard, and toward the close of the year 1883, Mr. Peoples of
Cheung Mai to Miss Wirt, and Miss Luinell to Mr. S. Gross, a layman in
the employ of the Petchaburee mission.
The number of the communicants reported in the four churches connected
with the Siam mission at the close of 1882 was 148; in the five
connected with the Laos mission, 144, of whom 23 were received during
the year; total, 292. There were many additions to this number during
the year 1883. Petchaburee especially was favored with quite a revival
of interest in spiritual matters. The faithful discipline that had
been exercised in the church there the year previous, and the zealous
labors of Mr. Dunlap, who returned followed and upheld by the prayers
of many of the Christian women of America whom his earnest words had
interested in his work while at home, resulted in the penitential
return of many wanderers and in the addition of 56 communicants during
the ten months preceding October 1st.
One more mission family was sent out during the year 1883――the Rev.
Chalmers Martin and wife, who, embarking for the East from New York
Sept. 29th, re-embarked in January, 1884, at Bangkok, on a native
river-boat for the distant station at Cheung Mai.
In reviewing the history of the mission-work in the kingdom of Siam
well may the Christian Church――the Presbyterian Church in
particular――“thank God and take courage.” Buried in the deepest
shadows of heathenish night, it long seemed as if the day of Siam’s
awaking to welcome the light of the gospel would never dawn. But it
came at last. The Lord had a people there whom he would call to the
knowledge of himself, and there were men and women “willing to endure
all things for the elect’s sake,” assured through all those years of
almost utter barrenness that they or some one would yet “reap if they
fainted not;” and then the Board, with everything to discourage it,
_never gave up_, and so reinforcements were sent out and new fields
opened and manned, and schools for girls as well as boys established
and maintained, and the translation of the Bible carried on to
completion, and Christian hymnals prepared, and catechisms and tracts,
and the printing-press kept busy, and its issues distributed far and
wide in city and hamlet, along the many rivers and canals, and the
gospel message preached in mission-chapels and idol-temples and by the
wayside, till now (1884) the truth has taken root in the land, and
there are in the nine Christian churches in Siam and Laos, as we have
seen, more than three hundred and fifty men and women, once idolaters
and without hope in the world, who know the true God and love and try
to serve him, and who rejoice, as we do, in hope of eternal life
through Jesus Christ his Son.
PART IV.
LAOS.
CHAPTER XXII.
_LAOS LAND AND LIFE._
You will read in the following pages of a people about whom little is
known and less published――a people possessing many qualities of
remarkable attractiveness, and yet having not a few strange and
semi-barbarous customs and beliefs; a people who seem in some respects
to be peculiarly open to the influence of Christian teaching, and upon
whose soil the Christian Church is rooted and growing; a people among
whom the Lord assuredly has “chosen ones” who are hearing his voice
one by one and answering to his call.
You will read of their land, their homes, their temples, their
worship, their lives and occupations. And of all these you will be
told by those who have lived among them, who have learned to
know――yes, and to love them, seeing the precious souls within as the
sculptor sees the beautiful statue within the rough block of marble.
CHARACTER AND GOVERNMENT.
Some few points are especially to be noticed as general characteristics
of the Laos. They are a kind, affectionate people, caring much for
their family-life and morally superior to the races around them. By
some they are supposed to be the original stock from which came the
present Siamese race, but they have mingled their blood with so many
tribes, and their country is divided into so many small kingdoms or
provinces, that it is difficult to find any marked traces of a
distinct nationality among them.
[Illustration: CORONATION OF A LAOS KING.]
There are six Laos states directly tributary to Siam――viz. Lakon,
Lampoon, Cheung Mai, Muang Nan, Hluang Prabang and Muang Prai. All are
independent of each other, but there are smaller provinces tributary
to these larger states, yet the rulers even of the minor provinces are
autocratic in rule within their own territories. Each of the six
larger states has a first and second chief, the offices being filled
by appointment of the king of Siam, to whom there is a right of appeal
on the part of the people, who send notice to Bangkok on the decease
of a chief, with a private intimation of their views as to a
successor. Tribute is paid triennially to Siam in the form of gold and
silver boxes, vases and jeweled necklaces, together with curious gold
and silver trees valued at from 15_l._ to 135_l._ each.
The rulers of these provinces are called _khiao_, and they are
invested with their office by the use of a gold dish, betel-box,
spittoon and teapot, all of which are sent from Bangkok for the
occasion, and returned thither when they die or are deposed from the
throne.
The picture on the opposite page represents the coronation of the
_khiao_ of one of the most important of the Laos provinces in the
East. The ceremony is thus described:
“On the morning of the appointed day there was an uproar of drums and
gongs and other unmusical instruments. The noisy orchestra surrounded
the palace, while the royal procession wound through the streets and
defiled into the square or market-place. Mounted upon an elephant of
great size, which was armed with a pair of formidable tusks, the king
made his appearance, encircled by guards on foot and on horseback and
attended by his great dignitaries mounted like himself. A train of
smaller elephants followed carrying the court ladies. The cortège
finally directed its course to some spacious pavilions erected for the
purpose, where the bonzes of the royal pagoda were offering up their
prayers. A few minutes passed, and another tableau was presented. The
king was seen enthroned in the largest pavilion. He arose, and,
escorted by his principal officers, advanced into the middle of a wide
platform, where the bonzes, still uttering their prayers, gathered
about him. He threw off his clothes, replacing them by a mantle of
white cloth. Then the bonzes drew apart, so as to open up a passage
for him, and he proceeded to place himself, with his body bent into a
curve, immediately underneath the sacred dragon. Prayers were
recommenced, and the king received the anointing or consecrating
_douche_, while a dignitary who stood at one corner of the dais set
free a couple of turtle-doves as a sign that all creation, down even
to the animals, should be happy on so auspicious a day. When the water
which was contained in the dragon’s body had completely douched the
royal person, new garments were brought, over which was thrown a large
white robe, and he returned to his place in the centre of the hall. A
grand banquet of rice and cucumbers and eggs and pork and delicious
bananas, washed down by copious draughts of rice-wine, concluded the
day’s proceedings, and in the evening the town was lighted up with
fireworks, while bands of singers and musicians traversed the
streets.”
The whole country belongs nominally to these chiefs, who grant certain
districts to the numerous princes and nobles. These tax the common
people heavily――one bucket of rice for every bucket planted――and there
are also taxes on pork, fish, betel-nuts, bamboo and――gambling! The
chiefs appoint an officer to gather the taxes in each hamlet, and by
fair means or foul the uttermost farthing is squeezed out of the
poorer classes.
The greatest reverence is paid to these princes and officials by the
people, who never venture to name them without their titles in
conversation, and when in the presence of a superior show their
humility by crouching before them. A noble or wealthy Laos gentleman
or lady never makes a call, or goes out for even a short walk, without
a full retinue of attendants and slaves bearing the betel-box,
umbrella, water-jar, sword, seal and other signs of wealth and rank.
Besides captives taken in war and their descendants, there are great
numbers of slave-debtors, under obligation to serve their creditor
until they can repay the debt incurred, capital and interest. These
are usually well treated, and can recover freedom at any time if the
debt is discharged by themselves or a friend.
RELIGIOUS BELIEF AND CUSTOMS.
While the Laos people are Buddhists, devout and faithful to all the
requirements of that system, they are also true worshipers of nature,
believing in spirits of earth, air and water, making frequent
offerings to these and having some beautiful customs of worship
connected with them. It would seem as if this phase of their religious
life grew out of a sort of longing in their affectionate hearts for
something less cold and distant――something closer and more accessible
to them――than Buddhist teachings could give, and that, moved by this
craving, they have turned to the spirit-world with its unseen but
possibly near ministrations.
A few of their religious customs are interesting, and remarkable
enough to deserve here some special mention. Dr. McGilvary gives the
following account of one of their ceremonies:
“The full moon of the fourth Laos month, which usually occurs in
January, witnesses a strange Laos custom. It is called by two names,
signifying ‘The Warming of Buddh’ and the ‘Offering of New Kow Lam’ to
the priests. About daylight on the morning of the full moon bonfires
are kindled in the temple-grounds, at which are assembled a larger
number than usual of worshipers. It is the cool season of the year,
when the mornings are uncomfortably cold, but no one dares to warm
himself by the bonfires on that morning. They are sacred to Buddh, and
are kindled for his special benefit, and he, too, is presumed to be
cold. When the fires are lighted, incense-tapers are taken by the
priests, who go inside of the temple and prostrate themselves before
the idols, and invite _them_ to come out and be warmed by the sacred
fires. It is a sham invitation, however, as they are not carried out,
and they cannot of course come out themselves.
“It shows the inconsistent, incoherent and contradictory notions that
a false religion fosters. If Buddh is a god, why should he be cold at
all? Or if cold, why can’t he warm himself? Or why cold on that
morning? Or does the heat of the little bonfires continue during the
whole cool season? And how does it consist with Buddh’s annihilation?
According to theory, he has attained Nipan, a state of utter
unconsciousness of either happiness or misery. How, then, can he feel
the sensation of cold? Or if he does, and can’t warm himself, how can
he be a refuge to others?
“We presume that the real explanation of the custom, however, may be
sought from the second name mentioned above, and that the important
part of the ceremony is the Kow Lam that follows. That is glutinous
rice, on which the Laos principally live, put in joints of the bamboo
and roasted over a fire till it is done. It is very palatable, and on
this morning must always be made of the first-fruits of the new
rice-crop. They feast on it then for a number of days. Every religious
ceremony has its appropriate offerings to the priests, and this one,
like the others, fills _them_ with good things, and it matters but
little then whether Buddh remains cold or becomes hot.”
The Rev. J. Wilson thus tells of an appeal to the gods in time of
drought:
“Many of the people are almost in a panic from the scarcity of rice. A
year ago there was very little rain in the first part of the season,
but the latter rain was so abundant as to overflow the fields to such
a depth as to drown the rice. Consequently, the main crop of the year
proved an entire failure. Rice has been and is now very dear, so that
many of the poor have great difficulty in obtaining a sufficiency to
support life. From the king down to the owner of the smallest patch of
ground, all have been earnestly engaged in trying to call down the
rain. The king, with his retinue of princes and servants, has ascended
the mountain that lies some three miles west of the city to drench
with water the pagoda and the principal idols of a temple that stands
upon one of the mountain’s peaks. Only a few days ago a procession of
one hundred priests climbed the mountain for a similar service. The
temples of Buddh, especially on the sacred days, are vocal with the
sound of drums and the incantations of the worshipers who have brought
their offerings to the idols to buy rain with merit. The execution of
some convicts was hastened as a propitiatory sacrifice to the
rain-producing powers.”
At another time, when the season had been favorable, the thanksgiving
is described by the same hand, as follows:
“The rice-crop this year is a bountiful one, and the people are
rejoicing over it. The second king came in from the country on Sabbath
morning. He had been out in his fields threshing his rice. Returning,
he arranged for the yearly procession that is made at the close of the
harvest. The first gong had rung for our religious service just as the
procession reached the lower compound. The noise of bells on the
elephants and the chanting of the riders, together with the music made
by the king’s band, made it necessary for us to delay the ringing of
the second gong until after the procession had passed. I had not
supposed it was to be so great an affair. A large number of elephants
had passed before I began to count, but I counted one hundred and ten
as they passed along one by one. I was told there were one hundred and
seventy in the procession. One of the largest wore trappings of the
brightest silver. The howdahs contained rice. All these were decorated
with green branches. The procession was in honor of the guardian
spirits that preside over the rice-crop. Those that could see the
procession in its whole length considered it the most imposing one
that has passed for years.
[Illustration: A LAOS FUNERAL.]
“About six weeks――including parts of March and April――are annually
given up almost wholly to idolatrous worship, much of which consists
in efforts to propitiate spirits. The spirit of the river upon which
most of their commerce is carried on is propitiated by a floral
offering. Tiny boats are filled with the choicest flowers, carried to
the river’s edge, and tapers arranged by which to illuminate the
little barks. At a certain hour after dark a signal is given, and
simultaneously thousands of these little boats are launched and go
sailing down the stream. Aside from its being an act of idolatry, it
is a most brilliant and beautiful sight and one that excites our
highest admiration.”
In Laos, when a person dies, a precious stone or coin is sometimes
placed in the mouth of the corpse to pay the spirit-fine into the next
world. Afterward the body is cremated with ceremonies similar to those
of Siam. Men are laid with faces downward, and women on their backs,
for cremation. When a chief dies, men are hired to engage in a
pugilistic encounter in honor of the event.
MERIT-MAKING.
It has been frequently stated in the last few years that no _new_
temples are built in heathen lands, the old crumbling ones being
merely patched up for temporary use, if not allowed to fall into
absolute ruin. But the testimony of missionaries, who see much more of
these things than do passing travelers, does not bear out this
statement. As evidence of the zeal and activity with which an old
temple is sometimes restored and a new one planned when merit is to be
made thereby, the following is given:
“The princes and people of Cheung Mai are all astir in the work of
merit-making. Just now it takes the form of rebuilding the finest
temple that was erected in Cheung Mai, and in gathering and shaping
materials for the replacing, three or four months hence, of the temple
on the top of the mountain with a new structure. All the sawyers of
the city are on duty. Priests and people are busy with saw and chisel
and adze and plane. The large public courtyard is full of timber and
workmen. A new king has come upon the throne, and the way to a long
and successful reign must be sought in the building of these new
memorials to Buddha. How strange and how sad it all seems! But the
_people_ are not sad. For while their hands are busy their tongues are
busy too, and the frequent merry laugh tells of the joyous heart. They
boast themselves in their work. The chief priests of the temples are
there――one time passing among the workmen giving directions, then
seated in groups upon their mats, spread sometimes in the large
_sala_, and sometimes on the green sward, under the shelter of the
bamboo matting and the leaf-awnings that have been stretched above the
workmen. They are treated by all with the greatest reverence. The day
is theirs, for in every honor shown to Buddha they have a share. Every
day does the king come from his palace to inspect the work and to
testify his interest in it. His highest noblemen, and even princes,
consider it a privilege and an honor to help to frame the timbers for
these temples. And so the work goes on, and Buddha is remembered.
“Yesterday I passed through the temple that is so soon to be refitted.
The walls of the old building had been taken down and removed. The
foundation of the floor still remained. The principal idols were
occupying their old places. The smaller ones were sitting in groups
under the shade of the trees. The larger ones cannot be removed, but
have been covered with split bamboo to prevent injury while the
building is going up. The smaller ones are waiting patiently until the
temple is completed and they are carried back to their places.
“The building just removed was put up nearly a hundred years ago, and
with occasional patching has lasted until now. And what will be the
history of the new one? Will Buddhists worship their idols there a
hundred years to come? Will the darkness abide so long in the Laos
land? Or shall it have crumbled into ruins and temples for the worship
of the living God have risen up around it?”
Another of their innumerable ways of making merit is mentioned by Dr.
McGilvary:
“We visited a great cave at Cheung Dow that forms the subject of one
of their sacred books. It had never been examined beyond a certain
stream of water believed to be impassable. But if any one had merit
enough to cross, there would be found an idol ten feet high of solid
gold with golden vestments in which to visit the city of the Yaks,
which was still farther in. There, too, was the seat of Chow Kam
Daang, one of their greatest spirits. As it was not so convenient for
me to cross the water――which was not a deep stream, however――I had Nan
Intah cross it, and still another little pond of water, with no signs,
of course, of the golden idol or the city of Yak, which was our main
object in visiting the cave. The cave is nevertheless a fine one, and
in itself worthy of a visit.”
LANGUAGE.
Although the Laos understand the Siamese spoken languages, and many of
them can read the written characters also, the mass of the people are
unable to do the latter. Hence it is a matter of great interest and
importance to give them the Bible and other books in the Laos tongue.
Funds were collected in America some years ago, by the Women’s Foreign
Missionary Society of the Presbyterian Church, for the purpose of
making the type and having the Laos Bible printed. There has been
delay in the full accomplishment of this object, owing to the absence
from the country of some of the few missionaries who could superintend
it, and because also of some unexpected difficulties in the way; but
it is believed now that the work will very soon be done, and the
people be supplied with the Bible in their own tongue. They are
themselves eager to read and quick to learn.
CHEUNG MAI.
The Laos capital is a walled city a mile square and surrounded by a
moat, situated on the Maping River, one of the chief branches of the
Menam. Little hamlets of bamboo houses usually make up the towns of
the Laos country, but Cheung Mai has a brick wall around it, and is
much more of a city in size and appearance. The following description
of the view from the mission-house near by will give an idea of the
city and surrounding objects:
“From the veranda or through the open door we can see the stream
gliding by in graceful silence, the native boats passing up and down;
the farther bank with its smiling groves and houses half hidden
between; farther out, on the plain, a widespreading forest of palm and
other trees, whose towering tops tell us the site and limits of Cheung
Mai surrounded by its high and massive wall of brick. Beyond and over
the top of this city arose that grand old mountain, Doi Su Tape, ever
beautiful, ever changing in its beauty.
“Were I an expert at the pencil, I might send you some time a
landscape of river, plain and mountain superior to many that are
esteemed by the true artist as gems of the beautiful and picturesque.
It is our privilege to look upon this landscape of varied beauty every
day. For a week or more we were shut in, native style, at every point
of the compass by a luxuriant growth of tamarind, bamboo, and garden
shrubbery. It is thus that the native houses, which generally stand
back a distance from the river-pathway, are sometimes entirely
concealed by the dark-green foliage of the gardens. In front of our
premises a number of tamarind trees stand in all the carelessness of
the primeval forest. Some of them clutch the bank with their great
roots, a part of which have been washed bare by the stream when at its
height. Their widespread branches intercepted our view of the river
and mountain and kept out the cooling breeze. But the axe, by lopping
and pruning, soon gave scope to the eye and ingress to the healing
wind.”
This principal mission-station is on the right bank of the river. On
the left bank, near the bridge, is Dr. Cheek’s compound, on the city
side――the gift of the chief of Cheung Mai to the missionary-physician,
who is consulted by the royal family in sickness.
Through the gate that leads from the public road to Dr. Cheek’s
dispensary a steady stream of Laos men, women and children, rich and
poor, passes to and fro. “His name is a synonym,” says a traveler[3]
who recently visited Cheung Mai, “of all that is good and kind
throughout the district, he having relieved the sufferings and saved
the lives of hundreds of natives, and thereby earned their warm
gratitude. Adjoining his house he has erected a long bamboo shed,
subdivided into a number of small apartments, which serve as the wards
of a hospital. Here he has performed hundreds of operations with such
skill and such success that even the superstitious Laotians come from
long distances to be cured by him when suffering from painful diseases
or severe wounds. The chiefs and princes often send for him when their
reliance upon the superstitious rites of the native ‘faculty’ begins
to fail them, though, in such cases, his advice has often been only
asked when the patients have been _in extremis_. Two or three years
ago he saved the life of the chief’s wife when all the drugs and
incantations of several native medicos had been called into
requisition in vain.
“Dr. Cheek has also established a boat-building yard, where he gives
employment to a large number of men, and where he has introduced
improved models of boats and better modes of construction. American
tools have been introduced, and are gradually superseding the
primitive adzes and saws of the natives.”
The same traveler describes the palace of the chief of Cheung Mai as
“a mixture of Chinese and Laos architecture. Along the whole front
extended a long, open room, partially furnished with European
furniture, the only article of native workmanship a large gilt
state-chair or throne reserved for the use of the head-priest when he
came to visit the chief.”
The palace itself and the court-life within are characterized by great
simplicity, the king, “an old man, tall of stature, but slightly
stooping beneath his load of sixty-four years,” usually spending much
of his time in mechanical work, of which he is fond, and the queen
sharing with him in the transaction of state business. The present
queen is a woman of remarkable intelligence, and exercises a
predominant influence in the government, “by virtue,” says a
missionary, “of her exceptional feminine tact.”
Cheung Mai has a large market, which is very neat and orderly. It is
kept by women, who seat themselves on the ground, with vegetables,
fruits and confectionery deposited on plantain-leaves or in little
baskets made by themselves. While not trading they work on embroidery
used in ornamentation. Formerly, salt was the market currency, and so
seldom was money used that the owners of the articles often did not
know the value of them in money, but could readily tell if asked how
much salt they would take. The occasion of this was that all their
salt came from a great distance and was very precious in Cheung Mai.
Within a few years the Siamese government has sent small coin to take
the place of salt as a currency. The people were much confused for a
while by the change, and circulated them reluctantly. Some were even
imprisoned for persisting in taking salt to market to make their
purchases.
The principal articles for sale are provisions, fruits, tobacco,
betel-nut, fish, mushrooms, wax, cotton, earthenware and flowers. The
pork-stalls are kept by men, and there are some Chinese sheds where
cotton goods, brass and wooden trays and Burmese lacquer-ware are
sold. There are a large number of temples in the city, among others
the new Wat Hluang, or royal temple, recently built on the site of a
very old one.
HOMES AND DAILY LIFE.
There are no fine houses or palaces for the most part in Laos, princes
and peasants building on much the same general plan; the size and
quality of material and workmanship are the main difference. The
thatched roofs are cheap and easily replaced, and those of teak tiles,
though more durable, afford no better protection from sun and rain.
One-story high and raised on posts from six to eight feet above the
ground, a short flight of rude steps leads to the balcony which runs
around the dwelling. The flooring is usually of bamboo or teak, and on
one side of the veranda, protected by a covered shed, stand the large
water-jars, with a cocoanut dipper near. This entrance-platform is
generally ornamented by pots of orchids and other flowering plants.
Here in dirty weather, before entering the house, the polite guest
pauses to pour water over his feet. Here too the princes and other
inmates, too indolent to walk down to the river, are accustomed to
take a morning and evening bath by pouring water over themselves with
the dipper.
Underneath the dwellings is a general receptacle for howdahs,
gardening utensils, etc., which at night is often used as a
cattle-shed.
The furniture is very simple. Mats and cushions are piled in a corner
ready for use, the best cushions being three-sided with embroidered
ends. Home-made mattresses stuffed with cotton; mosquito curtains;
generally a native cradle swinging from the beam overhead; a few pots,
pans, baskets, cocoanut-shell dippers and spoons; a flat vessel or
saucer for the porkfat or oil which, with a bit of cotton wick,
furnishes the only artificial light,――would probably nearly exhaust
the list. At meal-times, about seven in the morning and toward sunset,
the family-circle gathers around a lacquer or brass tray on which are
placed small bowls of fish or pork, bamboo-shoots, vegetables and
curry, the steamed rice being served separately to each person in a
small basket. They sit upon the floor or mats; plates, forks and
knives are for the most part unknown. Among the very poor the
plantain-leaf takes even the place of bowls and saves all
dish-washing.
Every house has its native loom, and the garments are for the most
part homespun. Cotton is very plentiful and cheap in Laos, and native
dyes are used. The women, rich and poor alike, spend much time in
making garments for the priests. Some of the well-to-do and the slaves
of the nobility are skilled in embroidery. The native silk fabrics are
also woven on the loom, cocoons of the wild silkworm being collected.
The favorite colors are dark-blue, orange, maroon and a reddish-brown.
Princesses use this silk interwoven with gold thread.
Each district seems to have its own local headcovering, the most
common being a large flat of palm-leaves sewn together. A straight,
scant, horizontally-striped petticoat in blue and yellow, with a
body-scarf or shawl worn in various ways, or a tight-fitting jacket,
constitutes the not ungraceful costume of a Laos woman; her hair,
being drawn back, is fastened in a neat knot by a gold pin and is
almost invariably ornamented with flowers.
The body of the men of Western Laos is usually covered with
tattoo-marks of different animals and emblematic monsters. These
figures are usually first sketched by the professional tattooer from
the waist to the knees――monkeys, bats, rats, birds and so-forth; then
the skin is punctured with a sharp-pointed steel instrument, and an
indelible black pigment is well rubbed in. The dress of the ordinary
man consists of little more than the waist-cloth, but the young
noblemen are adopting the Siamese court-costume. Formerly, all went
bare-footed, but buffalo-hide sandals are now much used. Both men and
women are passionately fond of flowers. The ear-lobes are bored when
very young and stretched with pieces of wood, ivory and metal, and the
men almost invariably carry a flower in this hole; cigars and other
articles are fastened behind the ear. Large ears are regarded with
favor as a sign of longevity.
LAOS WORKMANSHIP.
Scattered over Laos-land are brick-fields and pottery-works, where the
native earthenware, water-jars and other household utensils are made.
The earthenware oven used by the Laos is in the shape of a boot, the
opening at the top holding the pot, while the upper part of the shoe
is cut away for the grate. Wood is burned within. These ovens are very
cheap, but break easily.
Wood-carving is also much practiced in Laos, and much technical
artistic skill is displayed in the carved scroll-work for doors, posts
and household utensils.
The valuable native varnish called _rack_ is resin collected from the
trunk of a special tree in Laos. This black lacquer is a monopoly and
little exported, being used in preparing the temples and idols for
their covering of paint and gold-leaf. It dries slowly in spite of the
hot climate, but gives in the end a perfectly smooth, hard surface
unaffected by dampness. The manufacture of lacquer-ware is carried on
in all parts of the country. First-class workers are found in almost
every hamlet. The foundation is made of woven bamboo strips coated
thickly with _rack_. This is polished with the common Laos substitute
for sand-paper――rice-husks and water. Then a pattern is drawn with a
style and the article finished with coats of red and brown paint. Many
household utensils are lacquer-ware, and some of the designs are
really well executed. The price varies with the quality of the
workmanship.
The Laos are also skilled in the manufacture of silver-ware. Each
village has usually one or more native artists engaged in executing
orders for the princes and wealthy classes. The _modus operandi_ is
primitive, and the work lacks finish, but the general effect is bold
and pleasing. A thin plate of the right shape is filled with a
composition of wax and resin. The patterns are from memory, usually a
medley of mythical birds and beasts, and the design is hammered out
with a style and sort of blunt chisel, the plastic filling yielding
readily to each blow; the figures and scroll-work stand out in high
relief. The value of articles is determined by the weight, with fifty
per cent. added for labor.
OCCUPATIONS.
Life in Laos is exceedingly monotonous. The women do much of the hard
work in the field as well as in the household. During the dry, cool
season, from November to May, even the trees and grass seem dried up
and lifeless, only the orchids showing any signs of vitality. Heavy
thunder- and hail-storms in May often herald the opening of the rainy
season. Then all nature takes a fresh start: the rice is planted; new
leaves shoot out; the heat becomes intense; vegetation is almost
spontaneous. After planting, only a very little labor is needed to
secure a good harvest in a favorable season. Both buffaloes and oxen
are used for ploughing, and are guided by reins attached to the noses
of the animals. Elephants abound, and are also employed as beasts of
burden, especially in the wood-yards. Carts are few, and the rude
native ones sometimes used to transport rice are drawn by men. The
paddy-granaries are simple, huge barrel-shaped bamboo baskets,
plastered to keep out mice and insects.
There are few amusements. Men, women and children are adepts in
fishing, and thus provide food for the household. The chase is sport
little indulged in by the lower classes, with the exception of
professional tiger-hunters. Two or three times a year grand
hunting-expeditions are organized by the principal chiefs and cause
much excitement.
The habits of social and domestic life among the Laos present some
striking contrasts to those of most heathen nations. Women are kindly
treated, and even honored by special favor and consideration in cases
of litigation with men. The baby-daughter is cared for as tenderly as
the little son, and child-marriage is unknown, while old age is
respected and watched over. Marriage is not as much a matter of trade
as it usually is among heathen people, and divorce is less common and
more governed by just and humane laws. Their treatment of the sick is
absurd in the extreme, so far as true care and healing are concerned
(as will appear in the chapter on that subject), but their intention
seems to be to do for their suffering ones all that their limited
knowledge and superstitious beliefs allow.
TRAVELING.
The great need of Laos is a better outlet for trade. At present these
little kingdoms are practically shut in from the outside nations.
There are parts of this country which can only be reached by
elephant-traveling, so dense are the jungles and so difficult the
passage. Missionaries laboring here are more isolated from the rest of
the world than at most stations, as will appear from the following
statements: There is no established line of boats going and coming, as
upon our own waters, but all transporting is done by private
individuals, and is only an occasional or incidental occurrence. For
this reason our inland missionaries have to wait sometimes from three
to five months before receiving any mail-matter from Bangkok, and in
one instance Cheung Mai had no mail for eight months. At Rahang
gentlemen may leave the river and complete the journey to Cheung Mai
by elephant, but ladies could not endure the ride, it is such a very
tiresome mode of travel. The elephant is a faithful and indispensable
servant in that land of mountains. All overland transportation
throughout Laos is carried on by means of elephants and oxen. Large
droves of oxen are frequently seen traveling single file behind a
leader decked with a mask fancifully made out of shells covering his
whole face, while from between his horns a large peacock tail rises
and sweeps gracefully, though comically, over his back. Each ox is
laden with an immense pair of baskets thrown over saddle-bag fashion,
and in these are placed the articles for transportation. Sometimes
every ox is covered nearly all over with strings of little bells,
which add some life to the scene. The peddlers from the north do a
large trade with Siam and Laos, and the Shan caravans are almost
entirely composed of these oxen, which give warning of their approach
by a musical sound of tinkling bells echoing through the forest glades
and from the steep mountainsides. The object of the mask upon the
leader is to protect the caravan from the assaults of evil spirits.
The Yunnan caravans are composed of small ponies and mules. To prevent
delay from grazing along the road, a ratan muzzle is provided.
Elephants also are decorated with bells to give notice of their
approach to caravans coming from an opposite direction. As they tramp
steadily along they regale themselves with the tender shoots of
overhanging trees. When crossing a stream they generally take a
trunkful of water whether thirsty or not.
Official passports are curious documents, consisting of long narrow
strips of palm-leaf coiled into a ring, and at each end is an embossed
stamp. This stamp determines the real weight of the document, and is
the first point examined before reading the order. These leaves are
almost imperishable, being tough and entirely unaffected by water, and
for such a purpose are superior to paper. When the writing grows
indistinct it is easily made legible by wetting the finger and rubbing
it over the leaf, thus cleansing the smooth surface and filling the
scratches with a thin film of dirt. Such a passport frequently
includes an order to inferior officials to furnish the traveler with
the necessary elephants for his journey. Throughout Laos written
official documents are almost invariably thus scratched with a style
on a strip of palm-leaf.
The enormous number of wild elephants in the forests and domesticated
elephants in the towns strikes one with amazement. Tigers, deer, wild
hogs, pea-fowls and jungle-chickens also abound in the forests; while
dogs, cats, crows and lizards are among the domesticated pets. The
country is rich, not only in valuable timber, but in minerals. The
opening up of the market by railroad would result in immediate profit,
bringing down the Laos products and taking back in exchange English
and American manufactures, for which a large and increasing demand
would be readily created.
LAOS OIL AND WINE.
Cocoa and betel-nut trees abound in Cheung Mai. Oil is made from the
former, and the latter produces an article of commerce.
Laotians have their wine as well as more civilized nations, but they
get it from a tree instead of a vine. A party of friends who were
traveling near Lakon in returning from a walk in the environs
encountered some Laotians carrying vessels of bamboo filled with a
liquid which at first they supposed to be water. On tasting it,
however, they discovered that it was the wine of the country,
sweet-flavored and by no means disagreeable to the palate――not unlike,
indeed, the product of some of the Rhenish vineyards. It was palm
wine, freshly made. It will not keep more than four-and-twenty hours
without fermentation. The Laotians offered to conduct the strangers to
a neighboring plantation, where they might observe the different
processes of its manufacture. The offer was accepted, and the party
soon arrived at a clearing which was thickly planted with great
borassus palms. To collect the wine――which is, in fact, the sap of the
tree――nothing more is necessary than to make an incision in the middle
of the head of the tree at the point where the leaves branch off, and
suspend beneath a bamboo, into which the sap falls drop by drop. In
order to reach the summit of these huge palms, which are straight and
smooth as the mainmast of a ship, the Laotians have invented a simple
and ingenious process. They transform the palm into a veritable ladder
by attaching to the trunk, with small strips of flexible ratan,
projecting laths of bamboo, which, jutting out to right and left at
intervals of twelve to fourteen inches, form so many “rungs” and
enable the ascent of the tree to be rapidly and easily accomplished.
[Illustration: TAPPING THE BORASSUS PALM.]
INCIDENTS OF MISSION-LIFE.
There are bright gleams ever and anon revealing themselves in the
pictures given us of the life of our missionaries in this lonely
corner of the world, showing that God does not leave his servants here
to sadness and discouragement. A young missionary thus describes a
visit to the wife of the king of the province, by courtesy called a
queen:
“I want to tell you of a novel entertainment Mrs. Cheek and myself
enjoyed last week. The queen has long been wishing for a dress made
like ours, and at last she prevailed on Mrs. Cheek to make it. The
material was black summer silk, and Mrs. Cheek made a pretty, short
_princesse_, white lace at neck and sleeves and lavender bows――very
pretty indeed. While it was being made we laughed over visions of bare
feet beneath a black silk awkwardly adjusted and a yellow cotton
scarf. When the dress was finished Mrs. Cheek invited me to go with
her to the queen’s and try to persuade her to let us show her how to
wear it. I was only too willing. The queen received us very kindly,
and was delighted with the dress. Mrs. Cheek suggested that she put it
on while we were there, and she laughed and said she was ashamed, but
soon invited us into her bedroom to help her dress. Mrs. Cheek had
provided the necessary underclothes, and after much instruction they
were properly adjusted. How we were to get the dress over her sacred
head was a question, but she answered it by putting it on herself. I
buttoned it, pinned the neck, and put on her diamond pin and necklace,
and then we stood off to get the effect. The transformation was as
pleasing as it had been sudden, and we were delighted. The queen
seemed to know that the dress was suitable, and instead of being
awkward she was at perfect ease. Our fears were not at all realized;
even the bare feet seemed dignified. The queen in the native costume
looks tall and spare, but this costume rounded her form out and made
her look quite queenly. When the king came in to see her he was very
much pleased, and told her she must have another dress just like it.
We had a very pleasant visit, and returned home well pleased. Mrs.
Cheek is now suffering for her generosity, for Chow O’Boon has sent
cloth to have dresses made for herself and daughter, and other
princesses are wishing to have the whole costume.”
Another enlivening incident is told in these words:
“I must tell you of the latest great excitement we have created. Many
years ago our mission-compound was a temple-ground, but the temple was
all in ruins when the mission took this land, and the débris was used
for leveling the ground, and in this débris an old idol was buried.
This has always been considered a very sacred spot, and many people
have brought offerings of fruit and flowers to be placed near the spot
where the idol was supposed to be. We have always refused them
admission to our grounds, but they often come at night unknown to us
and bring their offerings. Last week we were having our bank of the
river diked, and the workmen found the idol. Mr. Wilson had them
disinter it. As soon as the people heard what was done they came in
great numbers to see the god they had been so long worshiping――an
image of Buddha, of sandstone, about five feet high, sitting in
Oriental fashion on a large stone pillar. It had doubtless once been
gilded, but not a ray of glory remained, and it was both headless and
crippled in one arm. The next day Mr. Wilson took an axe and
demolished the god. Then you should have seen the people, and
especially the children, come and peep through the fence, and, half
frightened at the sacrilegious deed that was being done, hurry away
again. We intend to utilize this old relic by making a garden-seat of
the pedestal and a mound for ferns of the broken pieces.”
Another lady describes a picnic given to some newly-arrived
missionaries by a Cheung Mai princess:
“At four A. M. my clock struck the alarm, and we opened our eyes to
find it still dark. It did not take us long to dress. Lighting the
oil-stove, we soon had boiling water, and coffee, which, with mango
sauce and bread and butter, gave us a light breakfast before the long
trip began. Just before six I ran down to the gate and saw the four
elephants crossing the river; to my astonishment, the young prince,
Chow Kope, was driving one of them. Like most boys, he thought it
would be fun to throw aside the dignity of the princeship for a while.
He is a bright, intelligent and winning boy. He drove his elephant up
to the front veranda, raised the floor of the howdah (a little house
placed on the back of the elephant, and in which we ride), stored our
baskets, shawls, etc. in a sort of catch-all, and then, putting down
the floor, spread my boat-mattress over it, and placed the pillows at
one end that I might lie down if I wished to. Our drivers sit upon the
heads of the elephants, climbing up by means of the chain which holds
the howdah on, and using the knee of the fore leg of the elephant for
a stirrup, or rather a step-up. The elephant, when punched on the
knee, holds up his foot; the driver places _his_ foot on the broad
step made by the elephant’s knee, and, catching hold of the chain,
swings himself up to the monster’s head, where he sits――monarch of all
he surveys. Taking Chow’s hand, I reached the elephant’s head, and
then perched myself, as comfortably as you can imagine, in my little
house. Others of the party mounted elephants, and some rode on
horseback.
“We started off, moving slowly but surely. Crossing at the elephant
ford, we soon reached the road at the east gate of the city-wall;
following the road till we reached the north-west gate, we struck out
across the rice-fields――great plains, with only now and then a little
cluster of trees. We could command a fine view of the plains, and the
atmosphere was so clear that, for the first time, I saw the belt of
mountains which encircles the valley wherein Cheung Mai is nestled.
The mountain to which we were going seemed to be only about two miles
away, but was in reality four miles. The rice-field road took us
across some little brooks, which the elephants must have enjoyed, for
they filled their trunks with water, and every few minutes amused us
by throwing it over themselves, till one would almost have supposed
that that long proboscis was an unfathomable reservoir. Before
reaching the mountain proper we came into the woods, composed of
bamboo and a multitude of other trees and shrubs of which I did not
know the names, and a dense undergrowth. The path from this place up
the mountain was narrow, rough and steep, but not once did the
clumsy-looking creatures stumble. They frequently came to places so
steep that it seemed as though it were folly to attempt to climb up,
but up they went, carefully, slowly, placing the knees of their fore
legs on the high step, then drawing up the other feet, never missing
their footing. At the foot of the mountain we saw the stream Hoa Kao,
which we followed in the already beaten pathway. Up, up we went, over
rocks and shrubs, and so close to the edge of precipices from one
hundred to one hundred and fifty feet high that it seemed as if we
must fall over. Oh, it was grand! At one place on the mountain-side we
had a very fine view of the country for miles.
“You may wonder how the drivers guide the elephants. A knock on the
right side of the head means turn to the left, a knock on the left
means go to the right, one on the forehead means go slowly. They use,
in thus guiding these beasts, a bamboo stick two feet long with a
prong on the end of it. It did seem wonderful that they were so easily
managed. When we came to a steep place Chow would say ‘_Coy_’
(carefully).
“At last, after a two hours’ ride, we saw the princess Chow O’Boon,
with her train of servants, waiting for us on a large flat rock by the
stream. With their many-colored skirts and scarfs, dark skins, black
hair and shining eyes they looked like a band of gypsies. Here my
elephant carefully knelt down, and, stepping on to its head, a man
helped me, and once more I was on _terra firma_. This spot was as far
as the elephants could go, but Chow’s slaves picked up our luggage,
and we walked to where the stream was quite narrow. By its banks were
great flat rocks, and projecting over these and at a height of thirty
feet was a very large umbrella-like rock. It must have projected
twenty-five feet, and was about seventy feet long. Under its shelter
we had our dinner, and after this a nice resting-time. Having brought
our bathing-suits, we went up the stream later in the day and had a
delightful bath. At four o’clock we started for home. The ride back
was delightful, though it was quite exciting coming down the mountain.
The sky was beautiful: low in the horizon were dark clouds threatening
rain; above them the lighter clouds changed from golden to scarlet,
then gradually back to golden. A pleasant breeze was blowing, and had
not the fact that I was riding an elephant kept me awake I should have
gone to sleep. We reached home about seven o’clock, and all pronounced
Hoa Kao a beautiful stream. We felt very grateful to Chow O’Boon for
giving us the use of her elephants and thus affording us so much
pleasure.”
* * * * *
But better perhaps than all else of reward or comfort in a
missionary’s experience are the consistent life and triumphant death
of one rescued from the darkness and superstition of his people and
brought into the kingdom of God. The man mentioned in the following
account, the first Laos convert, had for a number of years been
walking with God in humble faith:
“Dear old Nan Intah is at rest――gone to be with Jesus whom he loved. I
wish that many of those who talk so much about the failure of
mission-work could have been at his bedside and seen his resigned and
peaceful death.
“When told that he could not live through the day, he turned to his
eldest child and committed the mother to his care. He gave his hand to
each of us first, then to his dear faithful wife and children and
grandchildren, and last to the church-members, saying to them, ‘Be
patient! be patient! trust in Jesus, all of you.’ To his youngest son
he said, ‘I am walking on the way you all must go; only be ready for
our Lord. Oh, my son, do not fall from the right path. Trust in the
Lord now, and do his work, as I have tried to do. You will suffer many
trials, but they will be forgotten when the day of reward comes. You
plant the rice-fields in the water and in the rain, but three months
from now you will gather the harvest. Learn from your yearly work the
lesson of life, and strengthen yourself in Jesus.’ He suffered
greatly, but toward the last he lay quietly as if sleeping, then
suddenly opened his eyes and looked at me as if he would speak, but he
was not looking at me, for his eyes were full of light and joy. A
smile passed over his face, and at the same instant he breathed his
last.
“The children were violent in their grief, but the dear old wife and
mother would say, ‘Let us rejoice rather that father is now free from
suffering. Jesus saved him from sin, and now has only taken him to
himself. God has called him home before us, but we may follow and be
with him. Be patient and trust, as your father said.’ She was
heartbroken herself, and nearly exhausted with the long, patient
nursing, and yet she would only say, ‘Loong Nan never complained in
all his two years’ sickness. Let us not complain of what the Lord has
done.’
“The men made a teak-wood coffin and Mr. Wilson lined it with fresh
white muslin; then the body of our beloved old elder, the first Laos
convert, was put in it and carried to the worship-room, where his
voice had often been heard in prayer. The whole land was so flooded
that it was impossible to dig a grave, so the coffin was placed on the
surface of the ground and a brick wall built around it. This could not
be done in the public burying-ground, and we laid our dear old Loong
Nan in our own garden under the mango trees. Every one said, ‘How
different from a heathen burial!’
“Do I believe that Jesus is? Yes, as I believe that I live now. Nan
Intah, a poor ignorant Laos, in this remotest corner of the globe,
believed the precious story of our Lord and received the promise, ‘I
will not fail thee nor forsake thee.’ ‘I have called thee by thy name;
thou art mine.’ That bright look of surprised joy,――I thank our Lord
for permitting me to see it, and it has strengthened my faith in him.”
With this story of the peaceful death and Christian burial of a man
but a little time ago a believer in witchcraft, a worshiper of spirits
and of Buddha, knowing nothing of God or Christ or his own soul, we
leave the general subject to look more particularly at the Laos
country and people.
CHAPTER XXIII.
_FROM BANGKOK TO CHEUNG MAI._
As the newly-arrived missionary for Laos stands in Bangkok and looks
“up the river,” the five hundred miles that lie between him and Cheung
Mai mean more to him perhaps than any of the same number he has
traversed since leaving his native land. It means from sixty to ninety
days’ travel in a rocking boat, and when accomplished puts him in one
of the most isolated outposts of the Church.
The boats for the journey, with a Laos crew are sent down from Cheung
Mai, as they are constructed to meet the peculiarities of the upper
Menam, its changing channels, its shallows and its rapids. The hull is
of light draught, and in the larger boats is about thirty feet long
and widens to the breadth of six or seven feet across the deck. At
either end it rises from the water in a sharp, narrow curve, that of
the stern being broadened and finished with an ornamentation which
resembles a fish’s tail. This is the design, and poetical it may be,
but in appearance it is clumsy and unsymmetrical in the general
contour of the boat. The cabin at the stern, in dimensions about five
by seven feet, is used as a sitting- and sleeping-room. The middle
deck is appropriated to the storing away of goods, boxes, trunks,
etc., and the bow is occupied by the boatmen, where they sit when
rowing or walk when poling, and where they eat and sleep. The middle
deck is covered over with bamboo wickerwork. It forms an arch, and is
so low that one cannot stand up in it. The roof of the cabin is of the
same material, but of finer braid, is separate from that of the middle
deck, and about two feet higher, so that one can stand comfortably in
the centre of it. The bow has an adjustable cover, which the boatmen
slide on to the cover of the middle deck during the day and replace
over the bow at night. The three sides of the cabin toward the river
have the upper parts entirely open. Screens of bamboo matwork are
fastened on the outside by strings of ratan, which answer the purpose
of hinges. These “shutters” can be raised to any angle, and are
propped outward by slender bamboo sticks. Being tied to the screen,
they are always at hand.
The crew consists of a captain and from six to eight boatmen. It is
quite an imposing sight when the Laos king starts out with a fleet of
forty or fifty of these boats, each taking place in line according to
the rank of the passengers, the king’s boat at the head with the
Siamese flag aloft, and gongs sounding the departure.
Our missionary fleet seldom exceeds three boats, and is minus the
flags and gongs, but instead has the waving of hats and handkerchiefs
by the outward bound, which is answered by the watchers on the banks.
“Bon voyage!” and “God speed you!” mingle with the farewells of the
company on the receding boats until each is lost to the other’s sight.
Let us suppose that you and I are of a company awaiting in Bangkok the
coming of the Laos boats. For many days we have been making provision
for our journey as well as enjoying the society of dear friends, when
at last one evening the announcement is made, “The boats are here!”
With one accord we rush to the river-bank in time to see them filing
into place for mooring in front of the missionary compound. How
topheavy they look, reminding us of old-fashioned stage-coaches! The
dusky boatmen look at us with smiling faces as we greet them with
“_Subirú?_” (“Are you well?”), and respond with a hearty “_Subi?
subi?_” (“Well? well?”), returning the question to us. We next ask,
“How many days since you left Cheung Mai?” Ten days, or fifteen, or
twenty may be the reply, for you must understand it is easier to get
from Cheung Mai to Bangkok than from here to Cheung Mai. How is that?
Well, their quick trip indicates a good stage of water, and they have
been able to shoot the rapids and to row most of the way in the
smoother waters. In going up the poling in the upper river is slow
work, and the boats have to be dragged by ropes over the rapids, which
consumes both time and strength, for the boatmen have to rest after
passing the most difficult (_i. e._ high and swift). We must also take
into consideration the difference of going with the current and
against it.
By the time we have finished this little talk the boats have been tied
to their moorings and the boatmen are sitting in squat-fashion on the
decks, resting before their preparations for supper and for the night.
As we bid them “Good-evening” our thoughts are busy with the morrow,
when we shall begin to arrange our boats for the trip northward. At
dawn we are awake, and find the atmosphere cool even to chilliness, as
it always is in the winter months. The thermometer, we find, stands at
60° (at Cheung Mai at this season it is often as low as 54°). The cool
season is best suited to traveling in boats, and it is important that
we get off at its beginning. In the hot season, March and April, the
journey will be intolerable, and the river being then very low, it
would be impossible to get the larger boats through the shallow water.
In the rainy season, from May till October, you can imagine what it
would be to live in a close boat with a daily visitation of rain,
besides the risk to health from constant dampness and exposure to
malaria, which is rifest at that season. The best time for the journey
is the cool season, when the skies are without a cloud――from the
middle of November till February――and the air is cool and pure. The
weather then is like October in our Middle States, warm throughout the
day with cool nights and mornings. You will then need the blankets and
quilts provided by the dear home friends, and your warm wraps and
shawls will be in use most of the way.
As our goods and provisions are transferred to the boats, we proceed
to their arrangement in the narrow spaces allotted. You will not think
our appointments very luxurious, yet we can make our cabin neat and
home-like by hanging curtains at the windows, and our mattresses,
which are laid in a corner on the floor, we can fold together and
cover with a chintz spread, thus economizing space and improvising a
sofa. On the shelf above we shall place a few books, toilet articles
and flowers and ferns as we can get them. A grass mat upon the floor
and two or three camp-chairs, and the arrangements are complete, the
goods in mid-deck being tidily and compactly settled, with trunks and
boxes left accessible and all the articles for “below decks” being
nicely stored.
The cheery “All ready!” is given, and we launch out into the river.
The exit is very quiet. As our crafts are pulled out to mid-stream the
splash of the long oars as they fall and rise is the only signal of
our outgoing. We select the time of departure at “flood-tide,” when
the waters from the Gulf of Siam come up to start us on our way. But
in a few hours we are beyond this tidal wave――yes, and far beyond the
dear friends we left standing on the bank of the river. Bangkok is
left in the distance, with its missionary homes and chapels, its
palaces, huts and great temples, its shipping, steamers and
market-boats, its bazaars and merchant-houses and its thronging,
restless population.
The river at this stage of our journey is wide and even with its
banks, while the heavy volume of water is rippling and turbid. As we
pass the suburbs and get farther into the country the signs of human
life begin to disappear. Mile after mile we pass between the low green
banks in uninhabited seclusion and surrounded on all sides by
luxuriant and gorgeous vegetation――forest trees and bushes of
undergrowth in countless varieties, and conspicuous among them the
bamboo, cocoanut and palm. Every bend brings a repetition of the same
scene, without the sight of a house or road or farm, until we reach
one of the many villages that are scattered at distances all the way
to Rahang, our halfway station.
And now what of boat-life and our Laos crew? The captain, with the
rudder-handle and his stool, occupies one entire side of our cabin.
The tiller, entering aft of the cabin between the floor and wall,
passes over its whole length to the fore side, where it reaches the
hand of the pilot as he sits on a high stool. This arrangement
trammels our movements on that side, as of necessity we must keep out
of the way. The man himself, with the characteristics of his race, is
polite, simple-hearted and unobtrusive. The men at the bow who, with
strong arms are propelling the boat, soon win our esteem by their
patient faithfulness. The happier it will be, however, if some of our
native Christians are of the company. Yet even the untaught Laos have
a kindness of nature and a desire to please and oblige which, with
their quiet, gentle ways, gain our interest and respect. To find the
noble qualities of friendliness, kindness and gratitude amongst a
people so morally degraded may seem contradictory, but it remains a
fact.
The leisure hours in the boat we occupy in the study of the language,
Bible-reading, etc. As meal-time approaches we are on the lookout for
a pleasant, shady stopping-place, and as soon as the boat reaches
shore we are out, and at once begin culinary operations. The boatmen
gather driftwood, which is abundant along the banks, and soon have two
fires lighted. We detail one or two men to assist us, while the others
prepare their own food, which has been selected and laid away, as ours
has been, in Bangkok before starting. The Laos men are more or less
accustomed to assist in cooking when at home, and this training is a
great convenience to themselves and to us in this long river-journey.
If our methods of preparing a meal are different, a much sharper
contrast is drawn as we sit down in two companies on the river-shore
to eat our food. The Laos squat around their baskets of boiled or
steamed rice and bowls of peppery curry made of chicken or fish. This,
with bowls of vegetables and fruit lying around loose, is laid on the
bare sand or deck as the case may be. No knives or forks are used, but
we may see wooden spoons, with which they dip up the savory vegetable
curry from the general dish, throwing back their heads as they put it
into their mouths. In fact, they eat most of their food in this
manner.
Supper is the only meal we can take leisurely, as we do not prepare it
till landed for the night. At breakfast and dinner we consume but
little over an hour in preparing and eating. By management we can have
breakfast and dinner under preparation when the boat stops, so as to
make as little delay as possible. All having eaten and the dishes
being washed and laid away, we resume our course.
As we pass the different towns and villages we stop as necessity
requires to replenish our larder in the line of rice, vegetables,
fruit, fish or chickens. Flour, coffee, tea, sugar, etc. we provided
in Bangkok for the whole trip. The flour comes from America. When we
bake bread it is always in the evening. We got leaven from the friends
in Bangkok, and hold it in safe-keeping, lest we run short midway in
our journey. When the boat stops for the night we have our loaves
already risen in the pans, and our first care is a fire for its
immediate baking.
The houses in these towns are scattered without regularity of streets
or squares. Slight bamboo fences mark the boundaries of each house and
garden. The enclosed space may be large, as in case of a nobleman’s
residence, or very small or maybe none at all in that of a poor
peasant. The houses are built of bamboo, and are raised on posts. The
roofs are covered with attap (a broad-leaved grass resembling blades
of corn). Costlier and larger houses are made of teak-wood, raised
also on posts and the roofs covered with tiles. Not a brick house or a
chimney is to be seen anywhere. At a distance the appearance of a town
is strongly suggestive of barns and haystacks.
In contrast with these rude domiciles we find in the vicinity of every
town large and elaborately finished temples. Upon them the wealth and
taste of the community are concentrated. They are built of brick and
plastered with white cement, which gleams like marble through the
heavy, dark foliage of the trees in the temple-grounds. Wood-carvings
and gold-leaf and mosaics of colored glasses or isinglass wrought into
many devices decorate the front entrance and doorway. Standing apart,
they have a domain of their own. Their broad grounds are enclosed by a
brick fence covered with white cement. In proximity to the temple are
the numerous little houses of the priests, whom we can see, at all
hours and in all places, marching about in dress of bright yellow and
with bald, shaven heads.
The shady seclusion of these grounds, with the images of Buddha
sitting in darkness within the temple, and it being also the abode of
the priesthood, make it a place of great sanctity and veneration to
these superstitious people.
The same uniformity presents itself in every hamlet and town in our
route. Between these places miles and miles of solitary silence
stretch away, until we could readily imagine that all of human kind
had forsaken the earth, and that we, by some strange destiny, were
left in this big “basket of bulrushes” to go on and on interminably.
What wonder, then, that the sight of a town or a passing boat are
pleasant interruptions on this monotonous highway?
Reaching Nakawn Soowun (_i. e._ “City of Heaven”), a provincial
capital ten days’ journey below Rahang, we find it situated at the
junction of two branches of the river. Our route leads us into the
left or north-west branch. Here the current is so swift that it
becomes necessary to abandon the oars and resort to the long poles
(iron-pronged at the end) to push the boat through the seething
waters. All the dexterity and acuteness of the polesmen and pilot are
put to the test now in keeping within the channel and to prevent our
being cast upon a sandbar. The bed of the river is filled with masses
of sand, which are in a state of perpetual change. Whirling and
careering and finding no permanent lodgment, it is constantly
displacing the channel, while we in our pursuit of it often miss it by
a half space of the boat, one side of which is lying on a sand-drift,
and at the other there may be the depth of twelve or fourteen feet of
water. In pushing off, the current carries us down stream, and as we
recover our distance again we think of the problem of the frog in the
well, and _our_ question is: If in one hour we gain _three_ miles and
lose _one_, _when_ shall we reach Rahang?
However, as “perseverance conquers all things,” we make our way
through this war of waters (passing several towns on our way) more or
less difficult of navigation, until we reach Rahang, where we find the
river divided into several channels by little islands. The banks are
high and the situation is beautiful for a city, with its
mountain-range and its two sentinel mountains, one east, the other
west, of the town.
Rahang marks the terminus of one-half our journey, and is the most
northern of Siamese towns. By some it is reckoned as the most southern
Laos town.
Its officials are in general Siamese, although its population is mixed
and is estimated at fifteen thousand. Here we see Laos, Siamese,
Chinese, Burmese, Peguans, Karens, etc. At a glance you will see the
importance of its occupation as a missionary centre. About two years
ago Dr. McGilvary labored alone here for many months. He was kindly
received and much encouraged in his work. As its fruit some were led
to the Saviour, and a permanent mission-station is to be established
here during the coming year.
After two or three days’ sojourn, spent in making preparation for the
last part of our journey, we set forth again, and now to enter the
border of Laos.
A few miles north of Rahang the river branches once more. We follow
the north-west fork, called the Maping. The other branch (Mawang)
leads to the province of Lakawn, where is one of our Laos churches.
Although the country in this vicinity is comparatively level, yet the
high banks and the views of distant mountain-ranges or hills diversify
the scenery, which has not the dull monotony of the lower Menam――a
pleasing change, and one that beguiles our time and attention as the
boats are slowly making their way toward the rapids; and seven or
eight days’ “poling” bring us to the entrance of the ravine at their
foot.
After weeks of voyaging on a broad river and through a flat country,
with a wide horizon always encircling us, how anomalous to be
confronted by this rocky pass, through which we must thread our way up
forty rapids to the equally level territory of Laos beyond it! As we
enter the gorge from the bright sunlight a sombre shade closes over
us, even “the shadow of a great rock in a _weary land_.” Wild and
grand beyond description are these cañons and falls of the Maping
River, and far exceeding any portrayal are the lofty, majestic
mountains through which the river cuts its way.
No scientific survey has ever been made of the incline of the river,
neither accurate measurement of the height of its mountains.
Missionaries have approximated the altitude of some of the cliffs that
border the river at from eight hundred to fifteen hundred feet. The
geology and flora of this region remain unclassified. In silent beauty
they await the coming of one who may some day unlock their secrets.
It occupies from one to two weeks in getting through the rapids. Some
are so difficult of ascent as to require many hours for its
accomplishment, while others can be gotten over in less than half an
hour. By means of ropes and pulleys the men, with the “Heave-O” cry
that is heard the world over, pull and push the boat upward through
the gushing waters to the top of the fall, where we glide on in
smoother ease――several miles, it may be――until a warning roar in the
distance announces the approach to another rapid.
The river is very winding in its course and variable in breadth――narrow
here, where perpendicular walls of granite rise sheer out of the water
to prodigious heights, shutting us in with heavy shadows and deep
solitude; wider there, where the rocks recede and stand apart, leaving
valleys between, where many a boulder, large and small, in “rank
confusion” lies, and where at the river’s edge are spaces of white
sandy beach. Here, where we halt for the night, a spacious ampitheatre
encloses us apart from all of earth. Encompassed by the “everlasting
hills” and under the silent stars, we sing our evening song of praise
and worship “Him who is from everlasting to everlasting.”
When the morning sunlight sends us on our way again, fresh revelations
of beauty meet our wondering eyes――cliffs whose precipitous sides have
been under the frescoing pencil of the sun and rain for a thousand
years; castellated rocks with great columns of stalactites pendent on
the gray walls; caves, crags and ravines with crystal cascades singing
their solemn tune in lonely places. Nor is there destitution of
vegetable life. In beautiful relief we find the rich green so peculiar
to the tropics spread everywhere amongst this rugged scenery――trees,
bushes, flowers, vines, ferns and mosses.
At the head of the rapids, and soon after passing out of the
mountains, we get our first sight of a Laos village; and cheerful it
is to come again amongst the habitations of men. During our two weeks’
transit from this point to Cheung Mai we find a country having the
same general features as that below the falls, with the exception of
higher banks along the river; but here we have another type of people,
entirely different in dress and _address_ from those of the lower
Menam. In common with the Siamese, they adhere to the Buddhist faith,
adding also spirit-worship. They have the same habit of betel-chewing
and the same forms of superstition, yet are a distinct race in customs
and modes peculiar to themselves.
Many sights of exclusively new character are continuously meeting us
too. The first that strikes the attention is the Laos system of
waterwheels, used for the irrigation of rice-fields and gardens. They
are made of bamboo, and are about twenty feet in diameter, and so
adjusted as to be turned by the current of the river, their rims being
furnished with small bamboo troughs which dip up the water as the
wheel turns down, and is emptied as the wheel turns up into a large
trough on the bank, and thence conveyed away by bamboo gutters. We see
these wheels at every turn (right and left side) of the river, yet
never lose interest in the rude machinery nor in the constant dipping
and emptying process.
Still proceeding northward, we come amongst the cucumber-gardens which
are planted on the broad sandbars. The Laos women, taking advantage of
the low water at this season, occupy in free possession every
available spot. The morning and evening they give to the cultivation
of these sandy gardens, in which they raise cucumbers, beans and sweet
potatoes. A fascinating sight it is to see these islands of “living
green” scattered up and down the bed of the river.
But what a spectacle we have in the long lines of little cows and
oxen, each laden with baskets of rice which they are carrying from the
harvest-fields! Two long baskets, holding perhaps a bushel, are joined
by a yoke which rests on the animal’s back, while the baskets hang at
its sides in the fashion of saddle-bags. In one train we may see
twenty, forty or one hundred, and they walk single file. The leader
has great preeminence in having its face masked with an embroidery of
shellwork, while over its head stream the gay feathers of the peacock,
and a string of bells (resembling sleigh-bells) is hung around its
neck. Many of the others also have bells, and what a merry sound they
make as they pass along on the banks above us! This is the only way
the Laos utilize the cow, for they abhor milk and butter.
At Rahang we saw elephants in limited numbers, but here we see them in
scores. This is literally true in the case of a prince’s retinue, when
we see from forty to sixty or more in one procession. They are in
universal use as beasts of burden.
See those large buffaloes that stand at the edge of the water! They
have short and thin hair――in some pinkish in color, in others gray. To
cool themselves and to escape the biting insects they walk into the
river and lie down, and are so completely submerged that not a spot of
them is visible but the nose. Sometimes we see them standing in the
water and birds hopping along their backs or perching between the huge
horns. The buffalo manifests no annoyance, and the birds have it all
their own way. They are old and familiar friends. These buffaloes are
used in ploughing, and they also tread out the rice.
As it is now toward the close of the dry season, we frequently meet
men and women fording the river, who in passing near our boat give the
salutation of _Pi n’i tua?_――_i. e._ “Going where? coming from where?”
It is a customary greeting, and carries no impertinence in it. We have
answered this question from prince and peasant many a time during our
journey, and it is rather a suggestive one, as in our reply we add
_why_ we come.
And here, walking about in the river, are the fishermen, busy by night
and by day in their eager pursuits. At any hour of the night when we
awaken we see their torchlights flashing hither and thither up and
down the river.
So onward we go, seeing strange new sights and customs, passing
village after village, exchanging greetings with the people; then
through long miles of loneliness, where we are hedged in by trees and
thickets of perennial green; yet with prow ever to the north (Cheung
Mai the lodestone) we are steadily and surely nearing our goal.
And now, as we round this bend, the plain of Cheung Mai and the grand
old mountains in the north-west come into full view. (The walled city,
a mile distant to the westward, is not in the line of vision.)
As we move slowly up the river we see on the left bank an old temple
overshadowed by old trees heavy with foliage. On the bank stand a
number of Buddhist priests dressed in their yellow robes, who have
come out of their little houses near the temple to look at the passing
boats. The plain on both sides of the river and to the very banks
abound in bamboo trees, as well as palm, cocoanut and an occasional
banyan tree, which makes a large circumference of shade. In amongst
the trees toward the river are the low bamboo huts of the natives,
with here and there a more pretentious house built of teak-wood and
roofed with tiles; a bridge spans the river. Just beyond the bridge
(north) and on the west side we catch a view of Dr. Cheek’s compound,
and below it on the east side are the mission premises. Ah! how long
we are in going over that last half mile!
Getting nearer, we see the waiting company on the bank and can feel
the welcome that is all about us. Drawing up to the steps at the
landing, how gladly we leave the boats to meet the cordial reception
of the missionaries and native friends who stand with outstretched
hands to receive us! Then, entering our new home, it is with
thanksgiving and joy that the Master has appointed our service for him
amongst the Laos.
CHAPTER XXIV.
_RECOLLECTIONS OF CHEUNG MAI._
My friends often say to me, “Tell us something about Laos, where you
lived when a child.” Listen, then, to a few of the things I remember
about Cheung Mai, the people who live in it and some of their customs.
The province of Cheung Mai is the largest of the six Laos kingdoms,
and is tributary to Siam. As no census is taken amongst this people,
the population cannot be accurately stated, but it is supposed by some
of the missionaries to be about eighty thousand. On the map which
accompanies this book you will see that the capital city, Cheung Mai,
is in latitude 18° 48´ north, and on the west branch of the Menam
River; but the map will not tell you that its suburbs extend for some
distance up and down each side of the river. In America the cities
have no walls around them, but, like most Eastern cities, Cheung Mai
is surrounded by high and thick brick walls, which in many places,
however, have gone to ruin. When there is a rumor of war the king
issues a decree that every man shall bring a teak log to repair the
breaches in the wall. It was on the pretext that our two Laos
Christians had disobeyed this command that they were arrested and so
cruelly put to death.
You may be interested in what Sir Robert Schomburg says about the
streets of Cheung Mai: “The streets of this city have been
(originally) laid out at right angles. Time, it seems, has worked
changes with regard to their regularity; nevertheless, I have not seen
any other Siamese city laid out apparently so regularly at its
foundation as Cheung Mai appears to have been.” If you could walk
about the streets of the city you would see, instead of our Christian
churches, very many _wats_, or temples, and the _prachadees_ which
seem peculiar to Cheung Mai. Again we quote Schomburg: “‘We pray to
Guadama (or Buddh) on passing a _prachadee_,’ said a Laos. ‘They were
built in memory of him and his divine acts, and some of his doctrines
are written on tablets.’ These remarkable towerlets are only cased
with brickwork and filled up with soil. They are plastered on the
outside, are of pyramidal shape and terminate at the summit in a
sharp-pointed spire.” Most of them are now in a state of decay, and
are covered with vines and other vegetation. You would see no floating
houses in Cheung Mai, as in Bangkok. The houses in the city are built
far enough apart to afford space for the cultivation of flowers, for
which the Laos have a great fondness. If the space is not large
enough, they must still have flowers, so they cultivate house-plants.
As temples are built of brick, it would “offend the spirits” to use
brick for dwelling-houses, and teak-wood or bamboo is used instead.
The bamboo houses of the Laos peasantry are roofed with thatch, the
walls are made of bamboo matting and the floor of bamboo reeds, cut
open so as to lie flat on the sills. Not a nail is used in such a
house, but everything is secured with bamboo or ratan withes. Teak is
the most durable wood we have, the houses built of it being the most
substantial. These houses are covered with burnt tiles, and are more
securely and closely built than the bamboo houses. All houses are
built on posts several feet from the ground, and the teak houses have
verandas, while the bamboo houses have open courts. The king has,
however, built a new palace, and as it is a distant imitation of
foreign houses which he has seen in Bangkok, it is in great advance of
all others in Cheung Mai.
If a stranger should enter the eastern gate in the morning, his
attention would be attracted by a large concourse of women, who seem
to be dressed alike, as all wear skirts with horizontal stripes and
have their shining black hair combed straight back and looped into a
beautiful knot, which needs no pin to secure it. In this market very
few men are to be seen; the women dress as do the Siamese men. Each
market-woman carries everything in two large neat baskets, which are
suspended from each end of a long, flat, flexible bamboo stick which
lies on her shoulder. Some of these women are seated on mats, with
market-baskets at their sides, while others are hurrying hither and
thither. On the right side of the street is a woman in whose baskets
are vegetables, for which she wishes salt in exchange. Over on the
other side of the street is a woman with rice to sell, but she prefers
silver. Silver is superseding salt as a medium of exchange. By her
side is another woman with bouquets of flowers, for which she finds a
ready sale; the purchasers carefully wrap them in banana-leaves, and
after sprinkling a little water over them deposit them in a cool place
until evening. Late in the afternoon the owner, if a lady, will appear
with the flowers tastefully arranged in her hair, while a gentleman
would wear his blossom in a hole in the lobe of his ear.
Unless the market-women have been successful in their business they do
not leave the market until the increasing heat of the sun reminds them
that it is time to retrace their steps homeward. Should you wish to
accompany one of these women home, she would make you heartily
welcome. On reaching the house you would first ascend several steps to
the front veranda, which is usually, but not always, covered. From
this veranda you would enter the front room or open court, where the
daughter of the house spreads a clean mat on the floor for you and
gives you a large three-cornered pillow on which you may rest one of
your elbows. As a mark of hospitality a tray or box of betel-nut and
seri-leaf will be set before you, and the invitation given to help
yourself. Though you decline, you will be interested in watching those
who may be seated beside you preparing their quid. The seri- or
betel-leaf is taken first, and its tip overlaid with a minute quantity
of slaked lime; then a pinch of finely-cut tobacco, a piece of cutch
the size of a pea and the fourth of a dried areca-nut are wrapped in
the seri-leaf, completing the mixture, which is chewed with evident
enjoyment. To foreigners this is a very offensive custom, but so
universal is it among both old and young that a box of these
ingredients is carried with them in a bag suspended from the
shoulders.
Should a member of the family be sick, you might be invited nominally
to see her, but you may be assured that you would have more occasion
to use your ears than your eyes, for the only window in the room is a
round hole about three inches in diameter and several feet from the
floor. The mattress is placed on the floor and surrounded by thick
mosquito-netting, through which you would think it scarcely possible
to breathe.
In the kitchen the stove consists of a wooden frame about four feet
square and six inches high, filled with earth or sand. On this are
placed three stones or bricks as rests for the pots, and between them
the fire is kindled. As there is neither pipe nor chimney, the smoke
is suffered to make its escape through openings as best it may, and if
it is a bamboo house there is little difficulty. In the dry season
cooking is often done in the yard.
Setting the table is not a laborious process. The table is round,
about a foot and a half in diameter and six inches high. When
meal-time arrives the table is taken down from its shelf and placed on
the floor, and by it the tall, slender basket of steamed glutinous
rice. On the table is a bowl of curry, hot with pepper and other
spices, a dish of pickled fish and some vegetables and fruit. Every
member of the family dips his rice into the common bowl of curry; but
if any is very fastidious he may have a dish of his own, but when he
has finished his meal, in order to avoid being considered extremely
lazy, he must wash his own dish.
The women are not kept in bondage, as in China or India, but are a
great power in the land; and the present queen has virtually the reins
of government in her own hands, although her husband is the nominal
head. She and her husband have always been friendly to the mission,
and although the last persecution occurred since they came to the
throne, it was carried on through the influence and power of the
second king.
As the queen walks out a maid walks behind, carrying over Her Majesty
a large lined and fringed silk umbrella with silvered handle, which
may be about six or eight feet long. Behind this maid is another,
carrying a gold betel-nut box, while dozens of others follow her, all
walking in single file, for two persons are never seen walking side by
side. The queen has several times visited the missionaries in their
homes. While she and the first maids-of-honor are quietly talking in a
lady-like manner in the parlor, her more inquisitive servants are
making a thorough examination of the house and what are, to them, its
curious and strange contents. This annoyance does not arise from
ignorance or lack of refinement of feeling among the people, but
because there are about this court, as well as about every other
court, undesirable satellites.
Considering their disadvantages, the Laos are a remarkably refined
race, as is shown by many of their customs. Should a person be telling
another of the stream which he had crossed, and wished to say it was
ankle-deep, as he would feel a delicacy in referring to his person,
his expression would be, “I beg your pardon, but the water was
ankle-deep.” If one wished to reach anything above another’s head, he
would beg the latter’s pardon before raising his hand. A great and
passionate love for flowers and music also indicates a delicacy of
feeling. Although, before missionaries went there, the women did not
know how to read, they were always trained to be useful in their
homes, and a Laos girl who does not know how to weave her own dress is
considered as ignorant as a girl in this country who does not know how
to read.
During the season of rice-planting and harvesting every member of the
family works in the fields, and the baby is left at home under the
care of the next oldest child. The children are thus early taught
self-dependence, and a boy who here would be thought scarcely able to
care for himself is expected, after the planting season, to take care
of the buffaloes in the fields all day long. The Laos use buffaloes
for ploughing, oxen for carrying rice, elephants for bearing other
burdens and ponies for pleasure riding; in which latter only the
gentlemen indulge, the ladies being debarred that pleasure. The motion
of the elephant, which is the chief beast of burden, is a swaying one,
but there is as much difference in the gait of elephants as in the
gait of horses, and those with an easy gait always command very high
prices. The top of a howdah, or elephant’s saddle, is very much like
that of a buggy, and the seat is not unlike the buggy-seat; the
difference being that there is a railing in front which extends a
third of the way across from each side, leaving an opening in the
centre. The person who is so fortunate as to secure the middle seat is
as comfortable as though seated in a chair, having the elephant’s back
as a footstool, but those sitting on either side have to assume the
position taken when seated on the floor. The howdahs for carrying
burdens have no coverings.
It is exceedingly interesting to watch the elephants when drawing logs
from the river. The teak logs are floated down from the forests, and
the elephants haul them on to land. An elephant is chained to a log,
which he drags to its destination, and after he is unchained he
quietly picks up his chain and walks to the river again. After
bringing up the logs he is very careful that they shall lie entirely
even, and if any end projects he pushes it with his tusks until his
trained eye can see no fault. The air with which he moves back and
forth from the river is very amusing; he seems to say, “I understand
my business.” The baby-elephant is a most mischievous creature, and is
the horror of market-women, because he often insists upon meddling
with the contents of their baskets.
The holiday which most interests the missionaries’ children is the New
Year, when all, and especially the young, give themselves up to a
peculiar form of merry-making consisting in giving every one a shower.
Armed with buckets of water and bamboo reeds, by which they can squirt
the water some distance, these people place themselves at the doors
and gates and on the streets, ready to give any passer-by a drenching,
marking out as special victims those who are foolish enough to wear
good clothes on such a day. It is most amusing to watch them, after
exhausting their supply of water, hasten to the river or well and run
back, fearing the loss of one opportunity. Sometimes several torrents
are directed to one poor individual; then, after the drenching, shouts
of laughter fill the air. On this day the king and his court, with a
long retinue of slaves, go to the river. Some of the attendants carry
silver or brass basins filled with water perfumed with some scented
shrub or flower. When the king reaches the river’s brink he goes a few
steps into the water, where he takes his stand, while the princes and
nobles surround him. The perfumed water is then poured on the king’s
head, afterward on the heads of the nobles, and they plunge into the
river with noisy splashings and laughter. The custom is also observed
in families. A basin of water is poured on the head of the father,
mother and grandparents by the eldest son or by some respected member
of the family. This ceremony has some religious significance, being
symbolical of blessings and felicity; a formula of prayer accompanies
the ceremony in each case.
There is a mountain about five miles from Cheung Mai on whose summit
is said to be a large footprint of Buddha; hence it is sacred ground,
and over it has been built a temple. Into the room over that sacred
spot none but priests are allowed to enter. When passing on the
streets, it is sad to hear the priests repeating their prayers, which
are literally “vain repetitions,” “for they think that they shall be
heard for their much speaking.” Besides the worship of Buddha, and in
seeming opposition to it, are the worship of evil spirits and the
belief in witchcraft. If a person is sick it must be ascertained who
is the person in whom resides the spirit that caused the sickness.
When found, he and his family are banished to a distant province and
his house and goods burned. This is a sure method of wreaking
vengeance on an enemy; if the sick has no grudge against any one, and
is averse to accusing his neighbors, he is beaten until the spirit
within him permits him to reveal the secret. A widow and two sons,
thus accused, sought the protection of the mission, and were allowed
to remain on the mission-compound. They have since become Christians,
and the two boys are in school expecting to study for the ministry.
This experiment has since been tried several times by the
missionaries, and always with success, as the natives do not now dare
to meddle with those under the protection of foreign residents. Has
not evil in this case been turned into a means of good? These people
are thus brought into daily contact with the missionaries and
constantly hear the gospel preached. So great is the Laos superstition
that after one of the missionaries had taken with him one of these
boys to a village on a missionary-tour, the request came from the
villagers that next time the boy be left at home, because he caused
sickness in the village. The answer was given that he had been with
the missionaries a long time and had done no harm. “Oh, well,” said
they, “the spirits are afraid of you foreigners, and when the boys go
into your yard the spirits climb up the tamarind trees by your gate
and wait until they again leave your yard, when the spirits enter them
again.”
CHAPTER XXV.
_A DAY AT CHEUNG MAI._
WASHING THE IDOLS.
Let me take you in imagination to our home in the Laos country. The
house is on the banks of the river Maping, and faces the west. As you
walk from the front gate up through the yard you will notice orange
trees, cocoanut, bamboo, mango and tamarind, with the pomegranate,
custard-apple, guava and coffee tree of smaller growth. Some of the
flowers will seem familiar, as the rose, tiger-lily and one which
bears a resemblance to the beautiful calla. The passion-flower, too,
is here, with greater luxuriance of growth than in America, and many
tropical flowers with heavy waxen petals having a rich perfume. Seated
on the veranda, your eye takes in the view of river, plain and distant
mountain, over which the bright sunshine is streaming. No wonder you
exclaim, “Beautiful for situation is sunny Cheung Mai!”
But now let me take you to the ceremony of _idol-bathing_, which
occurs yearly. We will get our hats and umbrellas, for it is afternoon
and this is the “hot season,” and join the groups of women who are
passing to the nearest temple, about half a mile distant from the
mission premises. Look how neat and clean they appear, dressed in
white jackets and the Balmoral-patterned Laos skirts, with long muslin
scarfs of crimson, purple, yellow or pink thrown over the breast and
shoulders, and with flowers to contrast or correspond with the scarfs
in their glossy black hair. Each woman bears in her hand a metal
basin――in some cases of silver――containing scented water. They have
spent part of the morning compounding perfumery from spices or
flowers, which, when duly prepared, is thrown into the basin with
fresh well-water just before leaving home. If you peep into the basin
you will see newly-gathered flowers lying on the top of the water. It
looks dainty, but its destiny is to wash off the dusty, musty idols
that sit in darkness in their allotted corner from year to year. As
the women pass along they talk merrily together. You will see children
and bright-eyed girls as well as matrons and aged women.
As we approach the temple we get glimpses of its white walls through
the foliage of the large trees which overshadow it. It is built of
brick and plastered. The outer walls are whitened and have a polished
appearance. It is surrounded by a low wall, built also of brick and
plastered. We enter through a gate just in front of the temple-door.
How neatly the grounds are kept, and how shady and pleasant they seem!
In the same enclosure are the little houses where the priests eat and
sleep. There are quite a number of these priests, young and old,
walking about the grounds, dressed in yellow robes and with
closely-shaven heads.
As we pass from the bright, warm sunshine into the dark, dreary
building a feeling of gloom and sadness strikes the soul. The floor is
hard, like stone, being made of some preparation of plaster and
cement, and it looks cold and cheerless. The dull, high walls are
without even a window to break the dismal outline.
On the side opposite the door is the shrine of Buddha. By the light of
the little waxen tapers we observe a large idol of perhaps four feet
in length, with proportionate body, made of wood and overlaid with
gold-leaf. On a shelf below where this sleepy Buddha sits are scores
of smaller idols, covered with gold or silver and similar in
appearance to the large image. If we go nearer we shall see some of
the offerings the women have brought and laid on this shrine. There
are garlands of lovely flowers which fill the air with a heavy
perfume, fruit of different kinds, piles of newly-made yellow robes,
new mats, pillows with embroidered work, etc. These are all for the
priests, and have been prepared by the skillful hands of women. You
soon notice that more than three-fourths of those present are women.
As the time for their so-called worship has come, we look about for
seats, but as none are provided, we shall have to do as the others do,
sit down on the floor. The Laos women are kind and polite, and we soon
find quite a number of soft straw mats at our service, with
invitations to come and sit on this or that mat. Selecting our places,
we are soon seated in an audience of heathen worshipers. How
depressing and melancholy it all seems! The flickering flames of the
tapers cast a weird light over the stupid countenance of the large
idol, toward which every face is turned. The worshiping is not
simultaneous; there is neither rule nor order in it. Neighbors who
have not met for some time are chatting together in an ordinary tone
of voice. A woman sitting by us is inquiring if we are comfortable, if
this is not a pleasant occasion, if this is one of the ways we are
accustomed to worship, etc. While answering her questions we are
observing two women in front of us. One is a mother with a young child
on her knee, in whose little hands she places a sweet, bright flower;
then she closes the tiny hands, palm to palm, the flower projecting
from the tips of the fingers, the stem within the palms. She then,
pressing the hands closely with hers, raises them above its baby head,
at the same time inclining its body in a bow toward the image of
Buddha. So soon do the heathen mothers begin to teach their religion
to their little ones. The other woman is very aged, and she places her
hands just as the baby did, and, raising them high above her head,
bends her body forward till her head and hands are pressing the stony
floor. How abject, how devout she looks in her prostration before the
idol! But she is again, in a minute, taking up the conversation where
it was broken off, with quite a hearty laugh at some passing remark.
By this time a priest begins in a monotonous tone to read from one of
the sacred books. The talking and laughing are going on in the mean
time. No one present understands what is being read, the reader
included, for it is in the Pali language, but they imagine some
blessing comes from the reading, although it is in an unknown tongue.
This over, the ceremony of bathing the idols follows. All rise to
their feet, the women getting their basins of water ready, while the
men carry out the small images and place them in a miniature temple of
bamboo which has been temporarily prepared in the yard. When they are
all arranged the women gather around, and each one dashes her basin of
water over them, but not touching one of them with the end of a
finger; they are too sacred for a woman’s hand to touch. The splashing
and dashing of the water is attended with great hilarity, terminating
in a noisy romp.
As we turn homeward from this scene can we refrain from praying,
“Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly, and reveal thyself to these poor
benighted ones”? In the evening, as we stand again on the veranda,
looking at the sunset, we see on the opposite side of the river a
number of men and women busily gathering up sand and putting it into
baskets. You are astonished when I tell you that this sand is carried
to the temple-grounds and thrown into piles known as _sand-gods_, and
a kind of worship is offered to them. As the night comes on the people
scatter away to their homes; the noisy tumult subsides, leaving a
quiet hush which we welcome most gratefully. But hark! that deep,
heavy _thud! thud!_ in the distance. What is it? It is the beating of
the great drums which are hung in the temple-grounds, to awaken or
notify their gods that an offering is about to be made. You will hear
them at intervals through the night, even into the morning watches.
When the sun goes from you in America this evening it will rise upon
the poor Laos people to awaken them to some of their many forms of
idolatry.
CHAPTER XXVI.
_A LAOS CABIN._
The cabin of the picture could hardly have been copied from any one in
Cheung Mai. In the garden districts temporary huts may be found which
resemble this one. But these, being for the most part on the open
plain, are without the shade of palm or other trees.
The Laos captives near Petchaburee live in houses whose roofs have a
circular appearance. The gables are enclosed with thatch, so arranged
as to form a continuous roof with that of the house. This roof reaches
so low as to shut out all view of the house itself from the passer-by.
These people have come from the north, where both cold and storms are
more severe than where they now live. In Cheung Mai, the eaves of the
roofs and the ends projecting beyond the gables are sometimes caught
with such force by the whirling storm that the roof is carried away.
The whole of this house seems to be resting upon those short posts
which fork at the top. In most of the houses of the Cheung Mai
peasantry these short posts serve to support only the flooring. Strong
beams or sills are laid upon them. Bamboo poles are laid across these
sills about a foot apart and tied with ratan. Over these is spread the
bamboo flooring. This is made from the trunk of a large-sized bamboo.
It is cut into the proper lengths, and these are gashed lengthwise all
over their surface by repeated strokes of the knife or axe. By this
process the sticks become quite pliable. They are then slit open by
passing the knife through one side of them from end to end. The broken
and jagged edges of the inner side of the joints are smoothed off, and
we have bamboo boards a foot or more wide. This flooring bends under
the pressure of the feet, and when dry makes a creaking noise, which
is not very pleasant. When riddled by a small black beetle that
burrows in its fibres, it becomes unsafe to tread upon, and sometimes
one breaks through it. But by putting it, when green, into water, and
keeping it submerged until it passes through the process of
fermentation, it is, in a great measure, free from the ravages of this
beetle. The many chinks in this bamboo floor offer convenient passage
for the streams of red saliva that flow from the mouths of its
betel-chewing inmates.
[Illustration: A LAOS HOME.]
The walls and roofs of these huts are supported by posts set in the
ground some two feet of their length and reaching to the plates. The
ridge of the roof also rests upon posts of the necessary length. The
posts for the walls are arranged according to a long-observed custom.
They must be in sets of threes or fives, etc.; odd numbers bring luck.
The spaces between each of these sets of posts have specific names.
Religious superstition takes under its guidance almost every part of
the work, and when the house is done it still directs as to the day
and the manner of moving in to take possession. No doors or windows
are found in the eastern wall. The family sleep with their heads
toward the east. Part of the main building――generally the end facing
south――is reserved for an open court. The east end of this court has a
wall continuous with that of the house. Along this wall is a shelf
upon which are placed flowers and other offerings in worship of Buddha
and the good spirits. In this outer court, if the family are
religiously inclined, the priests, by invitation, occasionally conduct
a merit-making service for the prosperity of the household. In cases
of sickness like services are held here. Preventives of sickness or
other calamity are often seen resting on the top of the posts under
the plate that receives the rafters. These consist of small pieces of
cloth on which are written certain symbolic characters, the cloths
themselves having become charms, potent against the intrusion of evil
spirits, through the incantations of what our American Indians would
call “medicine-men.”
To make the cabin of the picture a copy of the common Cheung Mai
house, the stair-ladder and the southern wall, as seen there, must be
removed. A platform from eight to twelve feet wide must be raised
within a few inches as high as the floor of the main building. This
platform must extend from near the centre of the house at its southern
end, beyond its south-western corner, to give passage-way to the
kitchen. At the west end of this platform stands a covered settle for
the earthen water-pots which hold water for drinking and cooking. The
outer posts of this platform rise high enough to support a railing,
and a board on top of this railing gives room for earthen flower-pots
and for boxes of earth in which are growing, for family use, onions,
red pepper, garlic, etc. The floor of the platform serves in daytime
for drying betel-nuts and fruit. At night, after the heat of the day,
it furnishes a place for rest under the cooling sky. The stairs are
placed at the end of this platform. Such a house may be built entirely
of bamboo except the grass thatch required for the roof. Neither
hammer nor nail is needed for its construction. The different parts
are held together by thongs of split bamboo or ratan. These houses are
built at small cost. Very many of them are kept neat and tidy. And
they have their conveniences. The writer had occasion to pay a native
peasant a considerable sum of money. This man, after counting the
rupees and testing their genuineness, one by one, by poising it on the
tip of his finger and tapping it gently with another rupee, tied the
money up in a piece of rag, and, rising, dropped it from the top into
the hollow of one of the posts that supported the wall behind him.
This post gave him a perfect concealment for his treasure. It was
_his_ “safe,” answering the same purpose to him that the iron one,
with its intricate locks, does to the banker, except that in the case
of the Oriental a stray spark would soon set his house and his “safe”
ablaze together. Still, he could linger near for the few moments it
would take the flame to lick up his house, and very soon after he
would have his silver rupees, melted, it might possibly be, into a
common mass.
There is no time――nor is it necessary――to speak of the trees that
throw around and over the houses of the native peasantary their cool
and protecting shade. Many of these houses are hidden away among the
trees, some of which, for size, vie with those of the forest. Among
the most beautiful of these trees are clumps of bamboo, from which
material has been obtained for the building or repair of the very
houses which they now envelop in their shade.
The owners of this little cabin seem busy――and happy as they are
busy――at work. The wife may be cleaning the fish which her husband
caught last night in a neighboring stream and brought home in that
vase-shaped bamboo basket sitting behind her to the right. If so, she
will string them in a row upon a bamboo splint, and when the fire is
built she will stick the splint in the ground near enough to the fire
to cook the fish. The husband is preparing the pot to cook or steam
the rice. A neighbor woman was passing along, and has stopped to talk
a few minutes and to see the woman cleaning her fish. Splint baskets
of different sizes and shapes are standing around (some of them under
the dwelling)――indications of industry and thrift.
There are a few of these bamboo cabins on the plains of Cheung Mai
which have become vocal with the prayers and praises of God’s people.
Before the gospel came to them their inmates shared in common with
their neighbors the transient joys of earth. For their fears and
griefs they had no solace, either from earth or heaven. Now the “Light
of life” shines into their souls, and they “joy in the Lord that
bought them.” And, however humble their homes may be, however fragile,
the Saviour abides with them, and is preparing them for and leading
them to his Father’s house. The light, too, is shining from these
Christian cabins to others yet in darkness. The Saviour has purposes
of mercy for other homes in the cities and villages of these northern
Laos.
CHAPTER XXVII.
_SUPERSTITIONS OF THE LAOS._
A full account of the superstitions of the Laos would very fairly
represent their intellectual attainments: their reasoning facilities
are entirely in subjection to the imagination in accounting for the
most ordinary natural phenomena; their reverential awe of supposed
supernatural agencies stands in the place of any rational perception
of natural causes. As, however, anything like a full statement of
their superstitions would fill a volume, nothing more than a slight
sketch of some of their more common superstitions will be attempted in
this chapter.
It is difficult for any one living in a community surrounded with all
the products of the inventive genius of man, and in the enjoyment of
the varied results of intellectual development, to form any adequate
conception of the benighted condition of the Laos mind as is indicated
by a statement of some of the miserable absurdities entertained by
them as sober and fundamental truths. Among them we can see examples
in daily life of those hideous spectres of superstition such as served
to guide the pitiful gropings of the intellectual and moral life of
Europe three centuries ago. The man who should speak lightly of
necromancy or deny the existence of spirits of every shade of
malignity presiding over the affairs of society, or question the
propriety of cutting off the heads of sorcerers, would be, in the
ordinary affairs of life, untrustworthy, in religion a heretic, and in
legislation a candidate for the honor of decapitation. Average Laos
credulity――and the Laos are all average――will accept any absurdity,
however monstrous, provided only it be supernatural. Consequently, any
operation of nature outside of the most ordinary is satisfactorily
accounted for by reference to some demon or spirit, or some other
equally plausible account is given in explanation of the phenomenon.
So the uprooting of a tree by a hurricane is the work of an enraged
spirit; an earthquake is produced by an immense fish moving its fins;
while a horde of demons preside over the mountains, the forests, the
fields and streams. A special divinity is supposed to preside over
each forest, and the hunter who collects the honey of the wild bee
must make an offering to this divinity to ensure a good yield of
honey. Indeed, almost every transaction of social or domestic life
must be effected with direct reference to one or another of a
multitude of spirits.
A Laos going on a journey must hunt him out a wise man, one who can
read, and ascertain a lucky day for starting; this is done by
consulting a kind of astrological table. A day of the week being found
to coincide properly with a day of the moon and with the nativity of
the pilgrim, offerings are duly made to the spirits, to ensure, if not
their good-will, at least their neutrality; then with a feeling of
security the journey is undertaken. No imaginable exigency of business
could induce a Laos to depart from this method; and the occasional
impetuosity of a foreigner arouses in a Laotian a sleepy kind of
compassionate wonder. The commander entering upon a campaign can move
only upon a lucky day and after making the necessary offerings, which
is a ceremony involving delay and careful attention just in proportion
to the importance of the expedition. Traders traveling by boats cannot
enter or leave the mountains through which the river winds without a
prayer and an offering of wax tapers, flowers and incense to the
mountain-spirits; a neglect of this ceremony may entail the loss of a
boat in the rapids, or indeed any calamity.
Twice a year offerings are made to the spirits of the river for having
defiled the water by bathing and by throwing refuse into it. Toy boats
and rafts are made, upon which are placed flowers, betel-nut,
seri-leaf, incense and lighted tapers; this offering is a public
ceremony, and is performed once in the eleventh month and once in the
twelfth month, the lighted boats and rafts making a very pretty
illumination of the river.
When any one is dangerously ill, one method of appeasing the spirits
is to make a miniature boat or raft, on which are placed clay images,
rice, vegetables, meat, fruits and other food, flowers and wax tapers;
the boat or raft is placed either upon the water or in the street,
whichever is the public highway. The spirits are supposed to find this
food, etc. and accept the token of homage.
For three months of the year, during Buddhist Lent, lanterns are hung
aloft to guide the spirits through the air, and thus leave them no
excuse for coming down in the streets. The observance of this custom
is very general, and is probably so, partly at least, from the fact of
its being a very sickly season, diseases being supposed to be due to
the spirits.
During the latter part of the dry season (from February to May) the
Laos people very religiously observe the various rites and ceremonies
of spirit-worship. This is a season in which no remunerative work for
the people at large can be engaged in, and, perhaps in consequence of
this, the time is occupied in various religious observances, and these
are principally spirit-worshipings.
One ceremony which was originally peculiar to the Peguans (descendants
of war-captives), but has been to a considerable extent adopted by the
Laos, is observed at this season. All the family connections join in
having a spirit-festival. A booth is built; food and drink are
provided in abundance for those who participate in the ceremony; the
booth is canopied with white muslin supported by light bamboo posts,
and is open all around, with arches made of cocoanut-leaves; at one
side of the booth is a space partially enclosed with gay screens, in
which the offerings to the spirits are placed on a table. These
offerings consist of food and drink, also clothing. From the centre of
the canopy is suspended a white cotton sheet. The ceremony is a dance
performed only by women, who enter the enclosure, and, after partaking
freely of the food――these spirits have a special weakness for pork and
whiskey――bury their faces in the suspended sheet mentioned above,
waiting for the descent of the spirit. The dancers do not have to wait
long for the entrance of the spirit, for the whiskey has made them
very sensitive to the spirit-influence; when the spirit has entered
the medium begins to sway her body to and fro and to gesticulate with
the hands and arms, after the fashion of Laos dancing, to the music of
a Laos orchestra. Laos music is appropriate to such an occasion, for
it is a combination of agonizing sounds which for harshness cannot
perhaps be excelled. The spirits seem to have thirsted for a year, for
the fair dancers make frequent visits to the whiskey, and even
affectionately take a bottle in each hand and dance around with them,
never neglecting to administer to the insatiable thirst of the spirit.
After attaining to an advanced stage of intoxication the dancers array
themselves in the costumes provided for the spirits――usually articles
of men’s clothing――and, arming themselves with swords and spears, they
stagger after intruders or acquaintances, who, if caught, must engage
in the dance. This unseemly revelry continues from early morn until
dark, the Laos band rendering the one favorite air without ceasing,
except to take an occasional draught of the beverage sacred to the
spirits.
While the Laos believe that the universe is controlled by spirits,
their belief in magic implies that certain persons can command the
services of some of the spirits to accomplish the darkest designs. No
superstition is more general throughout Siam and Laos than the belief
in magic. Among the Laos it is supposed that a sorcerer can command a
spirit to assume the form of an insect, which, flying against the
person whose destruction is intended, enters him and is transformed
usually into a buffalo hide, though it may assume after entering the
body of the victim any form, according to the will of the sorcerer.
The Siamese very generally believe that the Laos possess this occult
power, and the Laos, knowing little concerning it, credit the Karens
and other mountain-tribes with it. About two years ago two Karens were
brought to the city of Cheung Mai by some of their neighbors, charged
with having caused the death of a young man by enchantment. The case
was very clear against the accused. The young man had a musical
instrument which these Karens wished to purchase; the owner refused to
sell it, and a short time afterward he became ill, and died, I
believe, on the fourteenth day of his illness; at his cremation a
portion of his body would not burn and was of a shape similar to the
musical instrument. Thus it was clear that his death had been caused
by a spirit entering his body and taking the form of the coveted
musical instrument. The Karens were beheaded, protesting that they
were innocent of the crime charged against them, and threatening that
their spirits should return and wreak vengeance for their unjust
punishment. It is but just to add that cases of this kind are not of
frequent occurrence.
These nightmares of the Laos imagination are almost incredible to us,
though they are terrible realities to them.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
_TREATMENT OF THE SICK._
The treatment of the sick among the Laos ranks as a distinct
profession. Although the Laos doctors may not have classified their
knowledge of diseases in a way that we should call scientific, and
although a white foreigner might be so unsolicitous of his own bodily
welfare as to prefer the chance of nature to the professional skill of
the whole Laos faculty, still, their system of medicine is quite an
extensive one and embraces some very abstruse subjects. The Laos
doctors are not required to have a diploma and do not attend any
medical school, nor do they, as a rule, serve an apprenticeship; they
just take to doctoring naturally. Some of them are widely known as
successful general practitioners; others gain considerable notoriety
in the treatment of certain diseases and become specialists of wide
reputation. Some three or four medical books, treating of the
mysteries of vital phenomena and learnedly elucidating the doctrine of
the four elements, enrich Laos literature; these classic volumes also
contain invaluable formulæ, and the doctor who is so fortunate as to
own one of these books is held in high repute for his superior
learning, notwithstanding he may not be able to decipher a line of it.
Practically, the Laos, so far as the average doctor is concerned, have
no medical treatises.
The Laos are without a definite knowledge of any of the organs or
functions of the human body; no Harvey or Sylvius has ever arisen
among them. All of their theories concerning the bodily functions and
the four elements are merely philosophic guesses. Imagination has
taken the place of reason and experiment. Speculation furnishes them
with a satisfactory solution of the problem, “Why is it that instead
of flesh (muscles) only, tendons are found in the human body?”
The Laos divide diseases into two classes. The first class includes
all those disorders which may be considered as simply disturbances of
equilibrium caused by an undue preponderance or diminution of one of
the four elements――wind, fire, earth and water; the second class
embraces all those more serious disorders of the human system which
are due directly or indirectly to the influence of offended spirits.
The Laos materia medica embraces a considerable variety of medicines,
nearly every one of which is supposed to be a specific in some
disease; and, although his ideas of the medicinal qualities of these
drugs may be entirely theoretical, not to say fanciful, the Laos
doctor administers them just as freely as if he had experimentally
demonstrated their physiological properties. The bones, teeth, blood
and gall of the tiger, bear, elephant, rhinoceros and crocodile are
among the most highly-esteemed remedies; besides their specific
curative properties, these medicines impart the courage of the tiger,
the stability, dignity and longevity of the elephant, the solemnity
and tranquillity of the crocodile, the equanimity, contentment and
philosophic indifference to external things and other virtues
characteristic of the rhinoceros. Likewise, they eat the bones of the
raven to protect them from evil spirits, and perhaps also to enable
them to eat with impunity and relish of any dish; it is to be feared
that certain purloining instincts of this bird have been communicated
in this way!
Patient observation and intelligent experimental investigation are
entirely unknown to the Laos medicine-man; it is doubtful if he has,
either by intelligent experiment or by accident, arrived at one
solitary verifiable fact either in physiology or therapeutics;
satisfied with his supposed stock of knowledge, he has no desire to
increase it.
When called to see a patient the Laos doctor states authoritatively
what the ailment is; then proceeds to prepare a dose of medicine,
which process it is interesting to watch. Seating himself upon a mat
on the floor, he calls for the medicine-stone――a block of fine
sandstone kept in nearly every house――and upon it rubs his drugs,
which are carried in the crude form. The dose is composed of
indefinite proportions of various roots, herbs and minerals, the
teeth, bones, blood and gall of the tiger, bear, crocodile, etc.,
egg-shells, and anything else that the doctor may have; for, perhaps
with a view to alternative conditions, he uses a portion of every drug
he has, thus leaving slim chances of any unrecognized or latent
symptom remaining untouched. The portions of the various drugs worn
off by these rubbings are carefully washed into an earthen vessel, and
water to the amount of about half a gallon is added; this makes one
dose, or, in case the patient is not strong enough or is not of
sufficient capacity, the medicine is to be administered in small
doses――say half a pint or so――every half hour. This kind of treatment
is continued for two or three days, or, if the patient is
exceptionally vigorous, it may continue longer, a new doctor usually
taking charge of the patient on each succeeding day. The attending
physician usually remains by his patient day and night until it is
decided to call in another doctor or until convalescence is
established. If the patient grows worse, two or three doctors are
called in during the day, each one promising to effect a cure, and
each in turn is dismissed if an immediate improvement is not evident.
This is continued until the exhausted sufferer no longer tosses to and
fro, but lies unconscious, breathing hard, the patient watching of the
fond mother or sister is nearly over, the anxious pleading whisper is
hushed, and the death-wail tells that another home is desolate,
another soul seeks its eternal destiny.
As already mentioned, the Laos imagine many diseases to be caused by
spirits. Those diseases which are peculiarly fatal, and over which
they can exercise little or no control, are supposed to be due to
agencies outside of nature. This belief encourages a disposition to
neglect the investigation of natural causes and to multiply the
instances of supposed supernatural manifestations. Thus the appeal to
the supernatural to account for those deadly diseases so common in
tropical climates strengthens and extends the superstitious belief
which alone furnishes this interpretation of the mysterious phenomena
of nature. This tendency to bring the intellectual faculties under
subjection to the imagination is, of course, not limited to the realm
of diseases, for every extraordinary phenomenon is supposed to be
supernatural. The prevalence of fatal diseases and the frequency of
epidemics secure this stronghold of superstition; any scheme which has
for its object the elevation and enlightenment, the religious and
intellectual regeneration, of the Laos must include efficient medical
work, for in no other way can these superstitions be more immediately
affected than by the rational treatment of diseases.
This belief in the supernatural causation of diseases is not confined
to those disorders which are of rare occurrence: many forms of disease
of every-day occurrence are attributed to spirits. Rheumatism is said
to be caused by a “swamp-spirit;” the treatment for it might be said
to be more surgical than medical. When a person is afflicted with a
swamp-spirit, the doctor takes an axe or a large knife and draws the
edge of it along the affected part, without, however, touching it, at
the same time advising the spirit to return to its former abode.
Epileptic seizures are supposed to be due to spirits, and the proper
treatment is for two or more men to stand upon the thighs and pelvis
of the unfortunate sufferer, and so prevent the entrance of the spirit
into some of the vital organs. This plan is said to be quite
successful, as many patients so treated have recovered.
The absurdities of superstitious belief among the Laos might be
multiplied indefinitely: these instances are, however, sufficient.
Impressed with a sense of their utter helplessness in dealing with
those mysterious agencies which are so hostile to them, they
invariably conclude that man is subject to the government of invisible
and malignant beings of whom he can know nothing, and whose anger,
when aroused, no merely material agencies can appease. So in every
case of sickness offerings must be made to the offended spirits;
readings from the sacred books and prayers must be rehearsed.
These beliefs, however, as long as they remain general and
theoretical, are mild in their effects in comparison with another
superstition of the Laos, which I must not fail to mention. Abandoning
the vague and general, in this superstition their belief becomes
terribly specific: they imagine that the spirit or essence of one
living person may enter the body of another person and inflict serious
injuries, and, unless expelled, even destroy life; furthermore, they
can ascertain whose spirit it is. This kind of spirit they term _Pee
K’a_. Hysteria, delirium, variation of surface temperature are among
the symptoms supposed to indicate this kind of possession. The
treatment is a specialty, and the doctors who understand these cases
gain great notoriety and are sent for from far and near to exorcise
the spirits. The exorcism involves a practice full of savage cruelty
to the patient and of barbarous injustice to the unfortunate neighbor
whose spirit is accused of having entered the patient. I had
repeatedly requested permission to witness an investigation of one of
these cases, and at last had an opportunity. I learned that the
patient had some months ago suffered from a protracted illness
(probably typhoid fever), and during her illness had lost the power of
speech. She recovered gradually and became quite well and strong, but
was still unable to speak. One day she went with a party of children
to a temple, and while there spoke a few words more or less
distinctly; her companions became alarmed and ran home. Supposing the
case to be one of witchcraft, the owner (the girl was a slave) sent
for the spirit-doctor; three of these specialists were present when I
reached the place. After asking some questions concerning the previous
illness of the patient, a consultation was in order, the most
important feature of which seemed to be the drinking of a bowl of
arrack (whiskey distilled from rice); these spirit-doctors took
frequent and prolonged draughts; they drank as if to slake an ancient
thirst. I thought they liked it, but I was informed that the learned
doctors drank simply in order to facilitate their communication with
the spirit, and that the chances were that they did not like the taste
of whiskey.
Having at length decided upon a suitable line of action, the doctors
proceeded to the investigation of the case. The most eminent of the
doctors――at least the one who had consumed the most whiskey――took a
tiger’s tooth, and, muttering some gibberish, drew it along the side
and back of the patient, leaving deep scratches; the patient, unable
to speak, of course writhed and struggled. At length, after a deeper
incision (which drew the blood), the patient uttered an audible cry;
this sound was interpreted by the ferocious, drunken spirit-doctors to
indicate the situation of the spirit. With a vigorous thrust in the
side, while his assistant, thinking he had discovered the spirit in
another region, was equally attentive, the chief inquisitor with foul
and abusive language ordered the spirit to leave. The exorcism was a
failure, and the spirit refused to make itself known, though
pressingly flattered to do so by the persuasive and forcible eloquence
of these three drunken, demoniac savages.
In these investigations any injury inflicted is directed against the
spirit, and any answers to questions asked by the doctor or the
friends of the patient are supposed to proceed from the spirit; so the
doctor asks the name of the spirit, and the patient, if conscious or
partly so, will, in order to escape torture, give the name of some
acquaintance, probably some near and intimate neighbor; for usually
some suspicion will have been expressed. The name of some one having
been mentioned by the patient, various questions concerning the
domestic relations of the family of the person named are asked, such
as the names of all the members of the family, the number of cattle
they own, the amount of money they have, and sundry other questions
concerning things supposed to be known only to members of the family.
If to all these questions satisfactory answers are given, the person
whose name is mentioned is accused of witchcraft, and, together with
all his family, all in the house, must leave the neighborhood;
everything belonging to them, except such articles as can be easily
removed, is committed to the flames; they cannot sell their gardens
nor rice-fields nor any other possession, since no one will risk the
supposed contamination. The accused cannot settle in any adjoining
neighborhood, but must go as strangers into some distant province
occupied only by others like themselves driven from their homes upon
charges of witchcraft. All the accumulations of a lifetime of thrift
and economy may at any time be sacrificed to the whims of this blind
credulity. This superstition is one of the greatest social evils;
indeed, it entails more serious injury than all other beliefs and
practices combined. No one receives any benefit from it; it is purely
destructive. Hundreds of families are yearly driven from their homes
in obedience to the requirements of this degrading prostitution of the
human intellect.
MEDICAL MISSIONARY WORK AMONG THE LAOS.
Since the establishment of the Cheung Mai mission in 1867 the
missionaries have made the care of the sick a part of their regular
work. Dr. Vrooman was the first missionary physician sent to Cheung
Mai; he was compelled, on account of his health, to leave there in
1873, having remained only about two years. Dr. Vrooman’s successor
arrived in Cheung Mai in the spring of 1875. During the six months
ending Sept. 30, 1875, about six hundred patients received treatment
of the foreign doctor. The work has increased steadily since that
time; in the year ending Sept. 30, 1882, thirteen thousand persons
received treatment. This increase in seven years from about one
thousand to thirteen thousand a year indicates that the work of the
medical missionary supplies a demand.
Because of having no hospital accommodations, the work has been
chiefly dispensary work, while as many as could be personally attended
have been visited at their homes. Notwithstanding this large increase
in the number of patients treated, the results of the medical work
have not been very gratifying. The difficulties with which one has to
struggle in dispensary work or house visitation are so great as to
render any effort almost devoid of satisfactory results from a
professional point of view; and, obviously, the conditions which
interfere with the medical work will also interfere with the
missionary work; in fact, what are molehills in the former become
mountains in the latter.
The houses of the Laos are located and built in violation of all
hygienic considerations, and in addition to the counteracting
influences arising from the imperfect sanitary surroundings, the
foreign physician has to contend against persistent meddlesome
interference with his directions; and in this contention he wages a
losing warfare, for he has arrayed against him that influence which is
so potent everywhere――namely, the prestige of ancient superstitions
sanctioned by ignorance and custom. In the treatment of diseases the
skill of the most competent physician is of no avail without the
faithful and skillful execution of his orders, which can be
accomplished alone by an intelligent and sympathizing nurse――I might
rather say, a trained nurse. The foreign physician is usually sent for
as a last resort, and is simply expected to perform a miracle; and
unless he in a measure satisfies the wildest requirements he is
pronounced a failure, and his presence is considered as rather an
intrusion and a source of mischief; for he forbids ceremonies which
are supposed to be essential to the welfare of the household, a
neglect of which may occasion both immediate and remote disaster.
Although spirit-worship and other religious observances are of
paramount importance in their homes, they willingly neglect them when
treated upon our own premises.
Upon entering a sick chamber the physician finds the air almost
suffocating, and must conduct his examination by the dim light of a
small wax taper, for in the construction of a Laos house the principal
object to be attained seems to be the utter exclusion of light, there
being no doors or windows except the necessary entrance. The
examination concluded, the physician gives his directions concerning
the management of the patient and goes his way, with the assurance
that his instructions will be regarded by the friends of the patient
as of some importance or as utterly insignificant, just according to
their own views of the case.
Dispensary work is equally unsatisfactory. The friends of the patients
come to the dispensary and describe as well as they can the most
obvious symptoms, and from the information obtained in this
exceedingly unsatisfactory way an opinion as to the nature of the
patient’s ailment must be arrived at and a prescription made. The
results of such a method could not be otherwise than unsatisfactory
even with intelligent nursing and a faithful observance of directions.
As to the nursing of the sick among the Laos, it is sufficient to
state that it is such as to seriously compromise any favorable
tendencies, and the directions given by the physician are usually
subject to any amendments that may be suggested by the inclinations of
the patient or the opinions of nurses or friends. If supposed to be
seriously ill, the patient is visited by a throng of relatives,
friends and acquaintances, and is disturbed by a ceaseless hum of
voices; elderly ladies entertain one another at the bedside of the
patient with the fullest accounts of the nature, course, duration and
proper treatment of similar cases which they have witnessed, some of
them relating the circumstances of the marvelous cures effected by
some skillful doctor while others dwell upon the melancholy import of
the symptoms.
Having concluded his daily routine of dispensary work, the foreign
doctor makes his second visit to his patient. Arrived at the house, he
probably finds it filled with the relatives and friends of the
patient, all devoutly attending a reading from the Buddhist scriptures
by a priest or a number of priests, according to the means of the
patient; long prayers and chants are rehearsed, sacred water is
sprinkled over the patient, offerings of flowers and wax tapers are
made to the household spirits. After this ceremony, which lasts for
several hours, the patient passes into the hands of a native doctor.
CHAPTER XXIX.
_A TOUR IN THE LAOS COUNTRY._
This journey was made by G. W. Vrooman, M. D., and the Rev.
Mr. McGilvary in 1872, to ascertain, in a portion of the
East but little known to us, the size and comparative
importance of the Laos chief cities and villages in
reference to missionary work, to preach the gospel, and to
observe the disposition of the authorities and people toward
foreigners, especially toward teachers of the Christian
religion.
During the early part of the dry season our time had been so occupied
that it was not till after the first heavy showers of the rainy season
had fallen that we decided to go. Our journey, in consequence, was
hurriedly made, and the time we remained in different cities was
barely sufficient to allow us opportunity to accomplish our objects
satisfactorily to ourselves. At our stopping-places the gospel was
preached and a few books were distributed――few, because we had no
more. We visited the authorities, made known the object of our journey
through their country, and endeavored to ascertain the leading
features relative to their provinces, their population, extent, etc.,
and to judge whether sufficient encouragement was offered to repeat
the visit at some future time.
After deciding upon the expediency of the tour we were for some time
in doubt whether it would be wise to go at that season of the year.
Foreign residents of this country consider it unsafe to travel during
the rainy season, and even the natives fear long journeys through the
forests. The jungle is the home of a multitude of savage beasts, but
these are not more dreadful than its malaria.
After engaging our elephants we went to the king for a passport. Had
this been refused us we could not have gone. He, however, very
cordially furnished us with one, and wished us a prosperous journey.
This passport was so worded that we were to travel as his guests, and
yet to go for the purpose of teaching the Christian religion, healing
the sick, etc. It was so worded, I believe, out of deference to our
request, and not from any special interest in our work. We were
furnished with the kind of passport given to certain Siamese officers
who are here occasionally, or to their own princes when required to
visit a neighboring province; and because it is customary to state the
object of their journey in a passport there occurred the anomaly of a
Buddhist king sending men forth to preach the Christian religion under
his protection. I may add here that after we had gone an officer of
the Siamese government here at the time, reproved the king sharply for
having allowed us to go. I think the Siamese are jealous of the visits
of foreigners to their distant provinces. A few years ago Cambodia was
won from its allegiance by the French. By many of the natives we are
believed to be political agents acting in behalf of England or of some
foreign power.
Our preparations for the journey were soon completed. Perhaps the most
important articles in our outfit were medicines. With our letter we
need not have taken money in our purses, but no script from any
earthly potentate can give such security against malaria as a few
grains of quinine, and no person is safe in this country during the
rainy season without it. Besides medicines and money to pay our way,
we took a small supply of canned provisions――only enough, however, for
use in case of sickness, as our food was to be procured on the way. It
was necessary to take as little baggage as possible. A tent, blankets
and a few extra articles of clothing, books, cooking utensils, guns
and ammunition, about completed our outfit. We had four elephants, two
of which were reserved for baggage. We had also an escort of six
natives, besides those who accompanied the elephants――fourteen in all.
After commending ourselves and those we left to the care of God, we
set out at noon, April 15th, on our journey. Elephant-traveling is
slow, scarcely averaging two miles per hour. Our course for the first
hundred miles lay toward the north-east. The level country over which
we first passed is occupied by a rural population. Our road, for the
first ten or twelve miles, was through rice-fields. Here and there we
could see small hamlets, whose sites were marked by graceful palm
trees. Narrow strips of forest, extending in irregular curves, joined
the different villages and formed the near boundary of our horizon.
They marked the course of small streams and irrigating canals. After
six hours’ travel we left the plain for the mountain-country, but two
hours before doing so we had entered the forest. Thenceforth, till we
reached Muang-Pau, a small village eight days’ journey distant, we saw
no houses, save in a small hamlet of thirty or forty inhabitants at
“Boiling Springs.” Our route, a main road traveled over betwixt Cheung
Mai, Cheung Rai and Cheung Toong, was merely an elephant-path through
a dense forest. On Sabbath, while encamped near a small stream in this
forest, we met Saan-yawee-Chai, the native Christian whose home is in
Muang-Pau. He was on his way to Lampoon. It was our intention to visit
him at his home, but Providence directed his steps to us. He excused
himself for traveling on Sunday by saying that he was not well
instructed in the duties and observances of the Christian religion,
and that also he was in company with those who would not stop.
[Illustration: CAMPING IN A LAOS FOREST.]
After eleven days from home we arrived at Cheung Rai. This is a small
city of three hundred houses, population between two and three
thousand. It is in the province of Cheung Mai, and its chief officers
receive their appointment from the chief or king of this place. It is
situated on the banks of the Ma-Kok, fifty or sixty miles from where
that river joins the Ma-Kawng (or Cambodia) River. The large plain
outside of the walls of the city is but thinly populated. The people
are mostly fishermen. Only a small portion of the surrounding country
is under cultivation, hence there are but few villages in its
vicinity. Here we dismissed our elephants, and by noon on the
following day had completed our preparations for the river-journey.
During our delay there Mr. McGilvary was occupied with the numbers of
people who visited us at our sala, preaching the gospel, distributing
from our supply of Siamese books to those who could read, and
gathering information concerning the country.
We set out again as soon as our boat and men were ready. Our passage
down the Ma-Kok to the Cambodia River occupied two days, during which
time we passed four or five small villages of twenty or thirty houses
each. These were near to Cheung Rai, within three hours’ journey of
it. We spent our Sabbath on a sandy bank of this river, as we did the
preceding one, many miles away from human habitations. In the morning
we discovered tracks of a large tiger near our boat. These fierce
brutes are quite numerous throughout the country. For mutual
protection against their attacks, and the more dreaded depredations of
robbers, nearly all the people of this country reside in villages or
congregate in larger numbers in cities. The Kamoos, a mountain-tribe
of people, inhabitants of this country at an earlier period than the
Laos, form an exception to this rule. More about them hereafter.
Near the mouth of the Ma-Kok is a mountain by the Laos called
Doi-Prabat-Rua, or “sacred feet and boat.” It is considered a holy
place, and many pilgrims go thither seeking to make merit. It does not
have, like the mountain of a similar name in Siam, an impression of a
foot in its rock. Its object of veneration is an unfinished stone
boat. The legend of the people is that Gotama Buddha commenced to hew
out of the solid rock a boat which was to be about thirty feet in
length. It was left when about half finished, and remains an object of
superstitious veneration, if not of worship. Few if any Laos will pass
it without fervently raising the folded hands toward it and murmuring
a prayer.
We stopped a day at Ban Saao, a small village on the Cambodia River,
near the mouth of the Ma-Kok, and from there visited the ruins of the
city of Cheung Sau. This was at one time the largest and most populous
city in this part of the interior; it was the capital city of a very
powerful Burmese province. Seventy years ago the city was taken and
destroyed by the Siamese, its inhabitants put to the sword or forced
into slavery and the entire province rendered desolate, in which
condition it remains to this day. The province thus depopulated, and
now the home only of wild beasts, is not as large as the province of
Cheung Mai, I believe. The territory under the rule of the king of
Cheung Mai is about as large as the States of Massachusetts,
Connecticut and Rhode Island; the waste province of Cheung Sau is
probably about as large as Connecticut. Nothing now remains of the
destroyed city save the walls and the tumbling ruins of temples.
Thousands of idols, images of Buddha, are scattered around in the old
wat- or temple-grounds. Helpless to save the city from its fate, they
were abandoned, and are now trodden under foot of the deer, wild
elephants and tigers, whose tracks now form the by-ways of that city.
After wandering about the place for several hours, we returned to Ban
Saao, and then continued our journey down the Cambodia. One day’s
travel brought us to Cheung Khawng. This is a Laos city of two or
three thousand inhabitants, and belongs to the province of Muang-Nan.
No inhabitants on the river-banks between Ban Saao and Cheung Khawng.
Many years ago a village was commenced, several houses built and a
clearing made in the forest. About twenty houses were reared, but the
people were obliged to desist, as many of them were killed by the
tigers. We remained at Cheung Khawng two days, called upon the
governor and some of the officers, visited many of the temples, and
everywhere talked with those who were willing to listen. Cheung Khawng
is also a fisher-town. There are very few suburban villages, fewer
even than around Cheung Rai.
Left Cheung Khawng on the 3d of May. Our passage down the Cambodia to
Muang-Luang-Prabang was rapidly made, and occupied only five days,
including the Sabbath. The distance to the latter place from Cheung
Rai is probably about three hundred miles, or from Cheung Khawng
nearly two hundred. The current of the Cambodia is very swift, in
places so much so that it was dangerous to navigate. The river is
nearly a mile wide in places, and where the channel is narrowed it
rushes along with frightful rapidity. No scenery is finer, not even
that of the Hudson, during the entire distance we traveled on it.
Mountains rise from either bank to the height of three or four
thousand feet. The river fills the bottom of a long winding valley,
and as we glided swiftly down it there seemed to move by us the
panorama of two half-erect, ever-changing landscapes of woodland
verdure and blossom. Only as we neared the city did we see rough and
craggy mountain-peaks and barren towering precipices. The villages
along the river are few and small――from Cheung Khawng to within three
hours’ travel of Muang-Luang-Prabang not more than six, averaging
twenty to thirty houses each. About three hours from the latter city
is the mouth of the Ma-Oo River. This river comes down from the north
and drains the country of the Liews.
Muang-Luang-Prabang is the capital city of a Laos province which is
perhaps even more extensive than Cheung Mai. The population of the
city has been variously estimated. My companion on the tour agrees
with me in placing the figure at twenty or twenty-five thousand. It is
probably the third largest city in the kingdom of Siam or tributary to
it. Ayuthia is the second, and Cheung Mai probably the fourth. While
the city itself contains a larger population than Cheung Mai, it has
not, like this, a large rural population in its immediate vicinity. It
is situated on the east bank of the Cambodia, on a plain which is not
more than four or five miles wide. A few miles above and below the
city the plain is bounded by high mountains, which reach to the river
and form its banks. A small river, the Ma-Kahn, comes in from the east
and divides the city into two unequal portions. The plain immediately
back of the city is not cultivated nor inhabited. We were told that
there were a number of villages on the banks of the Ma-Kahn. During
the season of high water boats ascend this stream――a month’s journey.
I presume it is then the highway on which the Kamoos bring their
produce to the Muang-Luang-Prabang market. The city is more compact
than any of the Laos cities which we visited. Its market is not so
large as that in Cheung Mai, but we found in it, besides the fruits
and vegetables of the country, many articles, especially cloths, of
foreign manufacture. These are brought from Bangkok. The meats in the
market are fish, pork and fowls. The former are abundant; many of
them, taken from the Cambodia River, would weigh over a hundred pounds
each.
DIFFERENT TRIBES.
The Laos of Muang-Luang-Prabang differ somewhat from those of Cheung
Mai. That province and Wieng-Chun are the provinces of the “Eastern”
(or “White”) Laos――the four cities or provinces of Nan, Praa, Lakawn
and Lampoon, of the “Northern” (or “Black”) Laos. The difference
bearing upon missionary work is that of language. Our Cheung Mai
escort experienced nearly the same difficulty in understanding the
“Eastern” Laos that a Siamese would have. The Eastern Laos dialect is
more nearly allied to the Siamese than is the Northern. It does not
occupy a middle position between the dialect of Cheung Mai and that of
Siam, but probably bears a relation to the Siamese and Cochin Chinese
languages, as the Northern Laos dialect does to the Siamese, Burmese,
Karens, Liew (or Lew) and Chinese tongues. The Eastern Laos understand
the spoken language of Siam better than they do that of the Northern
Laos. The differences between the Siamese, Northern and Eastern Laos,
Liews, Ngieus, Yongs, etc. is illustrated in the dialectic differences
of our own language as spoken in the different parts of England.
The letters used in writing the language of this province are
universally used throughout the Northern Laos provinces and by the
Liews, Yongs and in many of the Burmese provinces. The written
characters of the Eastern Laos are not much different from these. The
books of either people can be read by the other, though not without a
little difficulty. Siamese books cannot be read in any of the Laos
provinces, except by a few persons. Thus, the Bible printed in the
Cheung Mai Laos letters could easily be read in all the “Northern”
Laos, and in many of the Eastern Burmese, provinces and among
independent tribes of Liews, etc., and with but little difficulty by
the Eastern Laos.
The Liews are comparatively numerous in Muang-Luang-Prabang. Their
province lies to the north of it, and joins the southern border of
Western China. They are an independent, bold, hardy and cruel people.
They dress better than the Laos, the style of their clothing
resembling that of the Chinese. Their traders visit the Laos, Burmese
and Chinese provinces. Their principal city is Cheung Hoong, situated
(on the Cambodia River) to the north of Muang-Luang-Prabang. They have
a finer and more intelligent appearance than the Laos. Their tribe is
not so numerous as the Laos.
The Yongs occupy a province south of the Liews. Their principal city
is a small one on the Ma-Yong (River), a tributary of the Cambodia,
which empties into it above the desolated province of Cheung San. They
are also subject, I believe, to the king of Burmah. The above-mentioned
tribes of people in many respects resemble the Northern Laos. Except
the Ngieus, they have the same written language, and the difference in
the spoken language is not great. The Lwoas are another tribe of the
same family. Representatives of all these tribes, as well as Burmese,
Karens, Siamese, Peguans and Chinese, are found in all the Laos
provinces. Those most numerous in Muang-Luang-Prabang are the Liews.
The religion of all the peoples before-mentioned, except the Karens
and the Kamoos, is Buddhism, more or less mixed with Shamanism.
The Karens, Red Karens, Kamoos and Kamates are not Buddhists, but
worship or believe in evil spirits, to whose influence they attribute
all that is averse to their sense of good, and whose evil power they
must arrest by ceremonies and sacrifices. Thus the Kamoos in cases of
sickness do not give medicine, but offer sacrifices to appease the
spirits, sometimes killing ten or twelve animals over a single
patient.
The Kamoos and Kamates are so nearly related that I will speak of them
as one tribe. I have purposely omitted mentioning them in connection
with the other tribes of people found in Muang-Luang-Prabang, because
there does not appear to be any similarity betwixt them, either in
language, religion or customs. The Kamoos are quite as numerous in
Muang-Luang-Prabang as the Laos: I mean in the province, not the city,
for they are a mountain-tribe. They have no province of their own, but
are slaves, who, though they live among the mountains, must pay their
tribute, each man, to his Laos or Siamese master. They are most
numerous in the province of Muang-Luang-Prabang, but are found in all
the Laos and in some of the Burmese provinces, in the Hau country of
China,[4] and among the independent tribes. They are said to be
harmless and honest. They are ignorant and despised, even by the poor,
wretched people of this country. Their clothing is even more scanty
than that of the almost naked Laos.
Their homes are upon the tops of the mountains, not in the valleys
among the mountains, as are the Karen villages. They cultivate small
portions of ground, which they are not permitted to call their own.
Their diminutive clearings and solitary houses, on or near the top of
steep, high mountains, have a singular appearance, surrounded as they
are with forest and standing in bold relief against the sky. Many of
them, from frequent intercourse with their masters, understand the
spoken Laos language, but they have a distinct language of their own.
They have no written language. Probably not one in ten thousand of
them can read the books of any language. They have a few small
villages, but the majority of the people live in isolated homes. They
have no city of their own. Missionary efforts to reach that tribe
might be made through a native ministry. The superintendence of such a
work, should it be attempted, would require a missionary to reside in
Muang-Luang-Prabang.
We remained six days in that city. It was a season of constant labor
to my associate. Many visited us――probably from motives of
curiosity――but to all we endeavored to present the gospel message.
Drunkenness is a prevailing vice there. Unlike Cheung Mai, the nights
are hideous with revelry. Opium is said to be used very freely――more
so than in any other Laos city. We did not have that sense of security
there that we have felt in all the other Laos cities, and so were glad
when, on the 14th of May, we were able to leave on our homeward
journey.
In concluding this notice of Muang-Luang-Prabang, I will remark that
its usual communication with Bangkok is not by way of Cheung Mai. From
Nakawn-Soowun, twelve days above Bangkok, boats ascend the eastern
branch of the Menam to near its head-waters. The distance is probably
greater than to Cheung Mai. From that head of navigation there is a
land-carriage of eight or ten days to the Cambodia River, and then
about two weeks’ boat-travel against the swift current of that river
before reaching Muang-Luang-Prabang. I presume the usual time from
Bangkok to Muang-Luang-Prabang cannot be less than three months.
We traveled in boats about sixty miles down the Cambodia, seeing
very few villages on the river-bank, except near the city. At Ta
Dua we procured elephants for our land-journey; these were changed
at different stages. For two days our course was through a
partially-cultivated plain, lying parallel with the river and
separated from it by a narrow range of mountains. Passed through six
villages, the largest of which probably contained a population of one
thousand. Six days more of travel brought us to Muang-Nan. Four of
these were consumed in ascending and descending mountains.
Muang-Nan, the chief city of the province of the same name, is a city
of about ten thousand inhabitants. It is situated on the Nan River,
one of the streams which, by uniting with others, form the eastern
branch of the Menam River, where it forks at Nakawn-Soowun. The city
of Nan is about on the same latitude with Cheung Mai, and the river on
which it is situated is nearly as large as the one which flows past
our mission-premises here. Owing to impassable rapids on the Nan
River, travel between Nan and Bangkok involves a land-journey by
elephants of seven or eight days.
The province of Nan is one of the most populous and important of the
Laos provinces. The plain for ten or fifteen miles on every side of
the city contains a considerable number of villages. There is evidence
in the city and villages of comparative prosperity. The rulers seem
more liberal, more desirous of the welfare and prosperity of their
people, than in any other Laos province. The contrast in this respect,
between Nan on the one part and Muang-Luang-Prabang and Muang-Praa on
the other was great. We were more encouraged to revisit that city than
any other. We remained there four days. The lateness of the season and
frequency of the rains hastened our departure.
Going south-westerly, we arrived in Muang-Praa on the 4th of June.
This city is only four or five days’ travel from Muang-Nan, but we
were detained on the way in getting a fresh supply of elephants.
Four days south of west from Muang-Praa brought us to Muang-Lakawn.
This city is about the same in size as Muang-Nan; population probably
nearly ten thousand. It is situated on the Mawang, a river which
unites near to Rahang with the Maping, which goes by our doors.
We reached Cheung Mai on the 21st of June, after an absence of
sixty-seven days. The tour would be a difficult one to make at any
season of the year; it was particularly so at the time we made it. The
heavy rains retarded our progress, and rendered it extremely
unpleasant both by day and night. Our health, however, was but little
affected by these unpleasant experiences, as we escaped with less
sickness than did the natives who accompanied us.
CHAPTER XXX.
_CHINA TO BRITISH INDIA, VIA CHEUNG MAI._
Cheung Mai is one of the five northern Laos provinces belonging to
Siam. This northern Laos country is bounded on the north (lat. 20° 20′
N.) by the Shan states, tributary to Independent Burmah; on the
north-east by some independent Shan states lying between Laos and
Tonquin; on the east by Anam; on the south by Siam. The western
boundary is the river Salween, separating the Laos country from
British Burmah and Karenee. The extreme distance from north to south
is two hundred and twenty miles; from east to west, about four hundred
and twenty miles. The entire population of the five Laos provinces
tributary to Siam is estimated at about two millions. These two
millions are composed of about ten tribes; all of them, however,
excepting the remnants of three or four aboriginal tribes inhabiting
the mountains, are branches of a common stock, the Lou. Each of these
five Lou provinces is a kingdom, the ruler of which is always a native
prince, who can, however, exercise authority only after receiving
investiture from the king of Siam.
Cheung Mai, reckoning all the territory over which the king of Cheung
Mai exercises jurisdiction, is the largest and most populous of the
Laos provinces. A recent census of the houses throughout the province
of Cheung Mai gave the number of ninety-seven thousand, and the census
was not at that time complete; the population of the entire province
is not under six hundred thousand.
The city of Cheung Mai (written Zimme on English maps) is the capital,
and is reached from Bangkok by boat; the distance is approximately
five hundred and fifty miles, and the time required to make the
journey in native boats, propelled by men, is usually fifty days.
The isolation of Cheung Mai, the long, tedious and expensive journey
required to reach it, and the unwholesome climate, are considered by
some sufficient arguments against retaining it as a mission-station.
But there are other considerations worthy of attention, which I wish
to present.
The population of the city of Cheung Mai is estimated at about
twenty-five thousand; the language (with slight and unimportant
dialectical differences) is common to all the Laos people; it is the
commercial centre of all the Laos provinces to the north and
north-east, and also of the Shan provinces to the north. There exists
an extensive trade with Bangkok. Stick-lac, hides, horns, ivory,
cutch, gum benjamin, are among the principal articles of export; these
are exchanged in Bangkok for the products of foreign industry. Trade
with Bangkok is necessarily restricted: the cost of transportation is
too great to admit of a free expansion, the carrying of one ton of
cargo from Bangkok to Cheung Mai costing ordinarily fifty-five
dollars. The fluctuation in prices both in Bangkok and Cheung Mai is
very considerable; the customary rate of interest is two per cent. a
month; the time required for the trader to purchase his cargo in
Cheung Mai and go to Bangkok and return and dispose of his merchandise
is usually six or seven months. In addition to these unavoidable
difficulties, there are other and sometimes greater ones. The
fostering care of government is too freely exercised, arbitrary and
unjust taxes are levied, and other artificial interferences
sufficient, it would seem, to prevent any large investment of capital.
It is hoped, however, that a more intelligent policy will prevail.
Considerable improvement has been made, many restrictions that
formerly existed having been removed, and monopolies are not now so
freely granted to favorites. It speaks well for the enterprise and
sagacity of the Cheung Mai traders that in spite of all these
difficulties they have developed a very considerable exchange market.
The present extensive trade is an indication that Cheung Mai is the
natural centre of what, when properly developed, will amount to an
important commerce. It is not impossible that before many years
steamers will run from Bangkok to Cheung Mai. There seems to be no
real obstacle in the way of light craft propelled by steam
accomplishing the journey in ten or twelve days; the present demand
would justify the necessary outlay as a business speculation, and
steam navigation would unquestionably develop a much larger trade. Sir
Arthur Phayre represents the “Laos traders as industrious, energetic,
possessing a marvelous capacity for traveling as petty merchants, and
longing for free trade.” My own knowledge, after a residence of
several years in Cheung Mai, confirms this official statement.
The agricultural richness of the plain is known. The forests of
valuable timber clothing the hills and mountains are another source of
wealth. A large proportion of the teak-timber shipped from Maulmain
comes from the Cheung Mai forests. The mineral resources of this Laos
country are varied and extensive; deposits of many of the useful and
precious metals are known to exist; iron, copper, zinc, lead, silver,
antimony, nickel and gold are found in greater or less abundance. Coal
has also been found along the river after heavy rains, and petroleum
has also been discovered.
The importance of Cheung Mai is not, however, sufficiently indicated
by a statement of the productions and population of the province. Its
resources can never be fully developed if it is in the future to
remain so cut off from the rest of the world as it always has been.
The problem of a direct trade-route, connecting China with the British
possessions in India, is at the present time attracting much interest.
The route across northern Yunnan, _viâ_ Bhamo, into Burmah has been
sufficiently investigated to ascertain that for overland commerce to
any considerable amount it is impracticable. It remains to discover
the best route possible through the Laos country. To one who is aware
of the extent of the trade that exists and has been carried on for
many generations between Cheung Mai and Yunnan, and of the ready
access to Cheung Mai from Maulmain, the discussion of _the possibility
of discovering a trade-route_ connecting South-western China and
British Burmah seems superfluous. The caravan of Yunnan traders coming
yearly to Cheung Mai clearly demonstrate the existence of _a_
trade-route, and this native track is probably available for a much
more extensive overland transportation of merchandise than at present
exists. The Yunnan caravans bring silk and opium, iron and copper
utensils and other articles, which they exchange principally for
cotton. This caravan-trade has materially increased within the past
few years, though I have been informed that years ago the trade was
much more extensive than it is now. The gradual recuperation of
Yunnan, consequent upon the restoration of order there, probably
explains this recent increase of trade. The fact that a party of ten
or twelve men with a caravan of sixty or seventy mules make this
journey from Tali in Yunnam _viâ_ Cheung Hoong and Cheung Toong, to
Cheung Mai, is a sufficient indication of the safety of the route. A
caravan of sixty mules will ordinarily carry merchandise to the value
of twelve to fifteen thousand dollars, occasionally a larger amount.
Most of the Yunnan traders who come to Cheung Mai come from the
neighborhood of Tali.
The construction of a railroad from Maulmain, _viâ_ Cheung Mai, to
some point in South-western Yunnan would probably not encounter any
physical obstacles more serious than is usually met with in railroad
building. After entering the plain or plateau of Cheung Mai the
engineering difficulties would be of little consequence until the
mountains of Cheung Hoong were reached; and even there the elevation
is not very great and there are no deep gorges, such as are met with
on the Bhamo and Manwyne route. It is probable there are no
insurmountable barriers on this route, and, judging from the accounts
of Cheung Mai and Yunnan traders, there are no serious difficulties to
be encountered. Until there is a scientific survey any expression of
opinion as to the best track is little more than conjecture. From
Cheung Mai to Cheung Rai there are two routes. One explored by McLeod
and others, although not adversely reported upon, is certainly a
difficult route; I traveled over it in 1880 to Cheung San and found
the highest point passed over to be thirty-five hundred feet above the
Cheung Mai plain, and the ascent is abrupt.
The second of the two routes mentioned above has never been described;
until 1880 this route had never been traveled by a white man. In
January of that year I traveled over it, and found it, as I thought,
possessed of advantages over the other road. Proceeding from Cheung
Mai in a northerly direction, following the course of the Maping River
to a point fifty-five miles north of Cheung Mai, thence in a direction
east by north-east, at a distance of twenty miles from the Maping
River we entered a large and fertile plain lying to the east and
south-east of Cheung Rai, and separated from that province only by a
low range of hills; traveling through this plain to the Ma-Kok River,
and following the course of that river, the journey to Cheung Rai is a
very easy one. This plain, situated to the east and south-east of
Cheung Rai, although uninhabited at the time I visited it, was in the
beginning of Laos history the most populous of all their provinces;
ruins of the ancient city which was the capital show that at one time
there must have been considerable wealth in the province. The name of
this ancient city and now deserted province is Muang Fäng. A colony
from Cheung Mai has recently settled in the province. This plain is
distant from the Maping River only about twenty miles, and the highest
point of the divide is twenty-six hundred feet above Cheung
Mai――ascent very gradual. The plain is six hundred feet higher than
Cheung Mai.
A railroad from Cheung Mai (supposing connection between Maulmain and
Cheung Mai already established), following the route indicated above,
would encounter no serious physical difficulties in reaching the
present northern boundary of the Siamese Laos territory.
The project of a railroad from Maulmain to Cheung Mai is now under
serious contemplation, and an exploring party with this end in view is
reported as having left Burmah. But the terminus, instead of at Cheung
Mai, should be either at Cheung Rai or Cheung San. Such a road would
not be a doubtful experiment. The immense resources of this region,
the industry and enterprise, the peaceful and law-abiding disposition,
of the Laos people, are sufficient to guarantee its success. Any
thorough investigation of the subject will show that the natural and
most obvious trade-route connecting British Burmah and South-western
China is through the Cheung Mai province.
The only political difficulties in the way of such a route to the
boundaries of Yunnan would be met with in the so-called “Independent
Shan States” north of Laos. Upper Burmah claims, and fitfully and
viciously exercises, a supremacy over these Shan states, but the
general condition of these provinces is one of political anarchy. The
Burmese policy is to incite one province to make war upon another, and
to foment internal disorder by exactions and tyrannies compared to
which the most unjust and arbitrary measures in the government of the
Siamese provinces are mild. Geographically, these Shan states belong
to Siam, and it is to be hoped that the Siamese authority will be
extended over all the territory lying between the Ma-Kawng (or
Cambodia) River and the Salween up to the Yunnan border. While no one
will pretend to claim anything approaching to perfection in the
administration of the Siamese provinces, the protection to life and
property in them is simply infinitely better than the lawless
condition of the provinces claimed by Upper Burmah. Should the Siamese
authority be extended to the north (as the indications of the past few
years would seem to promise), so as to include all the so-called
Independent Shan states situated between the Cambodia and Salween
Rivers, a degree of law and order would prevail, and, protected from
the attacks and robberies of each other, these tribes would soon begin
to accumulate wealth, for their country is possessed of great
resources.
“Protection” and “annexation” constitute a serious bugbear to any
scheme of railroad building or canal construction in Siam. If the
Siamese and Laos could be convinced that there was no design upon
their possessions, they would not be averse to the opening up of their
country by railroads. It is difficult to believe that the intellectual
and political torpor which has so long characterized Siam is to
continue. The conflict between the old and the new is inevitable; the
numerical majority is, of course, under the influence of ancestral
traditions and inherited beliefs, opposed to all change; but the
constant contact with Western ideas must modify this spirit of
reverence for what is old simply because it _is_ old. Even “far-off
Cheung Mai” is, I confidently believe, soon to awaken out of her long
sleep, and, no longer dreaming of the past, to advance into the better
future.
THE END.
[1] The ceremonies at the cremation of the body of
the late first king lasted from the 12th of March, 1870,
till the 21st of the same month. The king of Cheung Mai came
from his distant home among the Laos Mountains to be present
on the occasion; and the pomp and expense of the ceremony,
for which preparations had been more than a year in
progress, surpassed anything that had been known in the
history of Siam.
[2] This was in 1851. Instruction was _first given
in zenanas in India in 1858_ [or 1857].
[3] Carl Bock.
[4] This is Yunnan
Transcriber’s Note:
This book was written in a period when many words had not become
standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling
variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been
left unchanged. Dialect, obsolete words and misspellings were left
unchanged.
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and moved to the end of
the book. Missing quotation marks and missing final stops at the
end of sentences were added. Duplicate words at line endings or
page breaks were removed.
Duplicate words at line endings or page breaks were removed.
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