A
THOUSAND MILES ON AN ELEPHANT
In the Shan States

The importance of the Eastern markets to European commerce has long been recognised, and since the famous Portuguese navigator Vasco da Gama rounded the Cape of Good Hope at the close of the fifteenth century, and the Portuguese occupied Malacca and established factories or trade depots in Burmah at Martaban and Syriam, the trade of Western China and Indo-China has been a prize which has attracted the commercial aspirations of every maritime mercantile community in Europe.

In 1613, the Portuguese were ousted from Burmah, and six years later, the English and Dutch established factories in that country. Some years afterwards the Dutch were expelled, and in the middle of the next century the French became our rivals for a short time. In 1756 the chief of their factory was executed, and their factory was destroyed, never to be resuscitated.

The first Englishman whose name is recorded in history as travelling in Siam and the Shan States is Thomas Samuel, who happened to be at Zimmé when that place was recaptured by the Burmese in 1615. In Purchas’s ‘Pilgrims’ it is related that he had proceeded from Siam to Zimmé “to viiidiscover the trade of that country.” From that time to 1687, when the English were turned out of Siam for killing some of the natives in a scuffle, many English merchants resided there.

Whilst the coast of Burmah was under native dominion, our traders had to content themselves with travelling along the great rivers; and it was not until 1829, three years after we had annexed the Burmese provinces of Tenasserim and Arakan, that steps were taken by us to establish overland trade with Northern Siam, the Shan States, and China. In that year Lord William Bentinck, the Governor-General of India, ordered a mission to proceed, under Dr Richardson, from Maulmain to the Siamese Shan States, to ensure friendly relations and trade in that direction; and in 1837, Lord Auckland, then Governor-General, despatched Captain (late General) MacLeod, viâ Zimmé and Kiang Hung to China, with the view of opening up trade with that country. Notwithstanding the favourable reports of these and subsequent missions, and the frequent petitions of our mercantile community asking for the connection of Burmah with China by railway, no action has been taken by the Indian Government in the sixty years that have elapsed since Dr Richardson’s mission, for improving the overland routes leading from Burmah to the great undeveloped markets which immediately border our possessions on the east. Burmah might as well have remained for these sixty years in native hands, for all the good that its acquisition has been to the furtherance of our trade with the neighbouring regions.

When I retired from Government service at the end of 1879, the French were again in the field. They had annexed the south-eastern corner of Indo-China, had seized Cambodia from the Siamese, were determined to wrest Tonquin from China, which they have since succeeded in doing, and had openly avowed their intention to eject British trade from Eastern Indo-China, and to do all they possibly ixcould to attract the trade of South-western, Southern, and Central China to French ports in Tonquin, where prohibitive duties could be, and have since been, placed upon British goods. It was under these circumstances that Mr Colquhoun and I took up the question, placed the necessity of connecting India with Burmah, Siam, and China before the public, and with the aid of the mercantile community determined to carry out a series of exploration-surveys to prove whether or not Burmah could be connected with these countries by railway at a reasonable expense, and to select the best route, financially and commercially, for the undertaking. The present volume deals with my exploration-surveys in Siam and the Shan States.

The country through which I passed, besides being of interest from a commercial point of view, was at the time of my visit shrouded with that glamour which invests all little-known regions; and an accurate knowledge of its physical features and political relations promised to be of great importance in view of the action of France in Tonquin, and our threatened embroilment with that nation in Upper Burmah.

Before commencing the narrative of my journey, in which the manners, customs, and habits of the people will be portrayed, I will, from information recently acquired by myself and other travellers, and from other sources, give a slight sketch of the ethnology and history of the interesting races met with by me on my journey.

The first mention in history of Lower Indo-China is in the ‘Annamese Chronicles,’ where it is stated that Founan—the early Chinese name for Cambodia—in B.C. 1109 was under the rule of a native queen. The next we hear of it is in A.D. 69, at the time when a Brahman from India, named Prea Thong, who is said to have been the fugitive son of the sovereign of Delhi, married the then ruling queen. This Brahman is believed to have introduced Brahmanism, xarchitecture, sculpture, and astronomy into Cambodia. At that time Cambodia consisted of an agglomeration of seven States, which were constantly at war with each other. On the death of the Brahman’s son, the commander-in-chief of the army made an end of the principalities, and was elected to the joint throne.

From B.C. 125 there are many accounts of embassies passing between China and Cambodia, and the country seems rapidly to have reached a height of prosperity and Eastern splendour. In the third century Chinese ambassadors mention palaces, towers, and theatres having been erected for the reception and amusement of the guests, and meeting merchants in the ports from countries as far west as the Roman Empire. The people were described by the Chinese as an active and robust small black race, with long hair knotted on the top of the head; the rich wearing only a silk loin-cloth, and the poor one of cotton. The women had head-coverings, and decked themselves with beautifully wrought silver jewellery set with precious stones. The men excelled in making jewellery, gold and silver vases, furniture, and domestic utensils—and were honest, and hated theft above all things. They worshipped Hindoo gods, and offered up human sacrifices.

This small black race, the Cham or Siam, was of the Malay stock, doubtless darkened by interbreeding with the Negrito aborigines, and perhaps with Dravidian colonists from the Madras coast. Remnants of the Negrito aborigines, evidently akin to the Australioids, are still found in the hilly districts of the Malay Peninsula, as well as in some of the adjacent islands: and the Kha, or Ka, in the neighbourhood of Luang Prabang; the Trao, to the east of Bienhoa in Cochin China; the Hotha Shans, in the Chinese Shan States; and one of the native races in Formosa,—are, according to Professor Terrien de Lacouperie, representatives of the same stock, and akin to the Tiao, a race of pigmies, xiwith whom the Chinese (Peh Sing tribes) became acquainted when they entered North-eastern China more than 4000 years ago.

To the north of the Chams, the country from an early period was occupied by the Lawa, a race with Mon affinities and probably of the Mon stock, who, according to their own traditions, and the beliefs and traditions of their neighbours, are the aborigines of the region stretching southwards from Yunnan, and eastwards from the Salween to the Meh Kong, and perhaps even to the China Sea. Many of the names of principalities and deserted cities are said to have been derived from the Lawa; and fierce battles were fought between them and the Shans before the former were conquered or driven into the hills. In a few years the language of this interesting race will be extinct, as the race have gradually been absorbed into the Shan and Peguan population, and Shan as well as Lawa is now being spoken in their few remaining distinct villages.

To the west of the Lawa were the Mon or Mun, a Mongoloid race of Malaysian affinities, whose scattered tribes spread from Indo-China into Western Bengal and Central India, where they are now known as Kolarian. Their first kingdom in Lower Burmah was founded at Thatone, an ancient seaport on the east of the Gulf of Martaban, by an Indian dynasty from the Madras coast, in the sixth century B.C. About the end of the first century of our era, Mon tribes drove the Burmese from Prome, which had been their capital from B.C. 483. These tribes were probably descendants of the Ngu race, including the Pang, Kuei, and Miao tribes, who, with the Shan, Yang or Karen, and King or Chin tribes, formed the chief part of the population of Central and Southern China during the struggle for empire—604–220 B.C.—between the Dukes of Tsi, Dsin, Ts’in, and Tsoo, which ended in the ruler of Ts’in becoming the first Supreme Emperor of China. Some of the wars waged xiiby Ts’in during this period seem to have been wars of extermination; and many tribes must have sought safety by moving southward and south-westward out of the area of turbulence. In one campaign 240,000 heads are said to have been cut off; in another, 140,000; and in others, 60,000, 80,000, and 82,000 heads.

In A.D. 573, the Mon founded a separate kingdom at Pegu, which, with the Thatone kingdom, was destroyed by the Burmese King of Pugan in the middle of the eleventh century; from that time to 1287, when Pegu was conquered by the Shan King of Martaban, Lower Burmah remained under the Burmese. In 1540 it was reconquered by the latter, and formed part of their empire for 200 years. In 1740 the Mon, aided by the Karen and Gwe Shan, rebelled against Burmah, and, electing a Gwe Shan as their king, commenced the great fight for supremacy, which lasted till 1757, and left the Burmese supreme in the country until we annexed it.

The language of the Mon is now nearly extinct in Lower Burmah. The Mon or Peguans, who sided with us during the first Burmese war, were mercilessly ill-treated by the Burmese when we evacuated Martaban and Pegu: those who did not escape into Tenasserim, Zimmé, and Siam, were either murdered or forced to learn and speak the language of their oppressors.

To the north of the Mon race, in the district of the Middle Irawadi, the country was occupied from an early date by Burmese tribes of Tibetan origin, who were gradually welded together by warlike Kshatriya princes, who invaded the country from Northern India. According to the Tagaung Raza Weng, their first capital in Burmah was founded at Tagaung by Abhi Raja, one of the Sakya Rajas. This prince came from Kapilavastu with an army, and, B.C. 923, built the city. One of his sons founded a dynasty in Arakan, and a grandson established another at Kalê in the Kubo valley. The xiiidestruction of the first monarchy at Tagaung was due to the irruption of tribes, probably Shans, from the East. This is said to have happened in the sixth century B.C.

About this time a second band of Kshatriyas arrived from Gangetic India, whose chief, Daza Raja, married the widow of the queen of the last dynasty, and some years later, B.C. 523, built old Pugan, near the site of the ancient capital. His successor was expelled and driven south by the Shans, and founded a new capital, B.C. 483, at Prome, in the north of Lower Burmah. Upper Burmah was thus left in the possession of the Shans, many of whose cities in the Shan States lying to the west of the Salween were founded about this time. Moné is said to have been built as early as B.C. 519.

Thirteen years after the Burmese were turned out of Prome by the Mon, they created a new capital, A.D. 108, at Pugan, where the Burmese monarchy continued until 1291, when it was expelled by the Shans, who governed Burmah from that time until 1554. From thence until we annexed the country, Upper Burmah was under Burmese rulers.

The Karen tribes who are found scattered amongst the hills in Burmah and Siam from the latitude of Mandalay southwards, are called by the Burmese Karen or Kayen; by their other neighbours they are known as Yang, pronounced sometimes nasally as Nyang. These people are believed to have been a branch of the Chau or Djow, which entered the north-west of China about B.C. 1276. The Djow displaced the Shang dynasty in China B.C. 1122, and remained supreme over the agglomeration of principalities forming the Chinese Empire until B.C. 336, when some of the States acknowledged Ts’in as their lord. Djow was ultimately overthrown, in B.C. 255, by the Prince of Ts’in, who took possession of Djow’s sacrificial vessels and the nine tripods, the symbols of empire. During their rule the Djow preserved their ancient faith in divination, and the augurs xivin the courts of the principalities occupied a distinguished position. No expedition or any business of importance was entered into without first consulting the fates.

The Yang or Karen—who gave their name to the Yangtsze Kiang, and settled on its banks—at the time of the destruction of Tsoo, the great principality which covered Southern China, by the Shensi State of Ts’in, B.C. 221, occupied the country to the south of the river in the provinces of Kiangsu, Anhwei, and Kiangsi. They were driven away by the Shan and Mon population of the eastern provinces, 210–206 B.C., and were finally expelled from China by the Shan King of Nanchao, viâ Yungchang, a city on the Bhamo route, A.D. 778. They have since spread southwards into Lower Burmah and Siam. At the time they left China, they are said to have numbered 200,000 families.

The traditions which are repeated from father to son in metrical verse by the Yang, have evoked great interest among the American missionaries, who have done such good work in converting them to Christianity. From the creation until after the flood these traditions are intrinsically the same as the Mosaic accounts. Some people firmly believe the Karen to be the ten lost tribes of Israel; but as their ancestors are known to have been in China some 550 years before the ten tribes were lost, it is much more reasonable to believe that they received their traditions from the Mohammedans of Yunnan, or that before their entrance into China they followed the tracks of the Peh Sing tribes, and had their earlier home in the neighbourhood of the Semite tribes, and there acquired their knowledge. The two other races which have extended southwards from China into Indo-China are the Jung and the Shan. The former was already on the borders of China, and some of its tribes had settled about the southern bend of the Hoang Ho at the time when the Peh Sing Chinese tribes arrived from their long journey from the neighbourhood of Chaldea. The Jung, according xvto Professor Terrien de Lacouperie, were originally of the same white stock as ourselves, and have become hybrid by intermixture with the neighbouring races. They were so warlike in their disposition that their name became amongst the Chinese equivalent to that of warriors. In the seventh century B.C. they were spread across the north of China from the extreme west of Kansu to the neighbourhood of Pekin. Many of their tribes were absorbed by the Ts’in—the Seres of the Greeks and Romans—of the province of Shensi, whose State name Ts’in has been by Europeans corrupted into China.

The people of Ts’in claimed kinship with the Niao-suk (Nila-Cakas or black Sakœ), and with the Fei or Bod, the people of Tibet. About B.C. 770, Ts’in was incorporated in the agglomeration of dukedoms or States forming the Djow dominion, and rapidly increased in strength by conquest, and partly by the absorption of the neighbouring Jung tribes. It then grew in power at the expense of the eastern States, and brought them into subjection. It further carried its sway across the Yangtsze B.C. 279, and conquered Tsoo. Its duke became Supreme Emperor of Ts’in B.C. 220.

The Jung tribes which were not absorbed by Ts’in, gradually pressed southwards amongst the Shan tribes in Szechuen, and are now found, under the tribal names of Mo-so, Lissu, Lolo, La-hu, La-wa (Lahs and Wahs to the north of Kiang Tung), &c., in the west of that province, and in Yunnan, Kweichau, and the Shan States as far south as the latitude of Zimmé, and as far west as the Salween river. These tribes speak a Tibeto-Burmese language.

The Shan race, known by the self-names of Tai, Pai, Lao, &c., occupies an area of country six times as large as the United Kingdom; yet, owing to the trading propensities of the race, the dialects spoken by the Shans differ so slightly that travellers from the Tonquin hills, Kwangsi, Yunnan, xviand Bhamo can converse with people at Zimmé and at Bangkok.

In the earliest times we hear of the Shans under their tribal names stretching across China from east to west, and occupying the country between the Yangtsze and the Hoang Ho. From 1766 to 1122 B.C. they are supposed to have been the dominant power in China, since the Shang, or traders, the ruling dynasty during that period, were presumably of their race. Later on they spread over Southern China, forming a large ingredient in the kingdoms of Tsoo, Tsen or Tien, and Nan-Yueh, and extended into the valleys of the Irawadi, Salween, Meh Nam, and Meh Kong.

The last of their tribes to leave Central China for Indo-China appear to have been the Chau Tai or Siamese, who were expelled from their seat in Kiangsi and Anhwei in the tenth century of our era. They were driven to the south-west into Kwangsi and Kweichau, where some of their tribes are still found, and a large body ultimately migrated into the Shan States to the south of Kiang Hsen.

In the latter half of the thirteenth century the country occupied by the Shans was in a state of turmoil and unrest. The ancient principalities in Yunnan had been conquered by Kublai Khan 1253–54; the Shan States to the south and west of Yunnan had been attacked, and a consequent great displacement of the population occurred. At that time the agglomeration of States formed by the Ngai Lao or Lao Shans stretched southwards from the latitude of Kiang Hsen to the northern confines of Cambodia or La-Wek, which then included a number of principalities in the valley of the Meh Nam, as well as in that of the Meh Kong. About 1281, according to the Shan records at Zimmé, the Prince of Kiang Hsen advanced southwards and conquered Lapoon, and in 1294 founded the present city of Zimmé. The Lapoon Shans fled into Martaban, and, headed by one of themselves, attacked the Burmese xviigovernor, slew him, and made their leader Wa-re-ru King of Martaban, A.D. 1281. Six years later, this Shan king conquered Pegu, and Shan kings reigned over the joint kingdom from that time until they were conquered by the Burmese in 1540. Upper Burmah was likewise under Shan kings from A.D. 1290 to 1554.

It was about the time of the conquest of Lapoon, according to Siamese history, that the Siamese were expelled from Kiang Hai by the Prince of Sittang. The Siamese fled southwards, and founded a new capital at Muang Pehp or Pet, opposite the present city of Kamphang Pet on the Meh Ping. In 1320 they deserted that city and founded another in the neighbourhood, and thirty-one years later migrated to the south, built their new capital at Ayuthia, on the site of a deserted Cambodian city called Viang Lek, founded dukedoms or Muangs at Soo-pan-Boo-ree and Lop-Boo-ree, and joined the confederation formed by the Ngai Lao States, over which the King of Sukkhothai was then suzerain. This king had attacked Cambodia in 1296, pillaged its cities in the valley of the Meh Nam, driven the Cambodians to the eastward, and thus rendered the country available for the Siamese settlements.

As time went on the Siamese became the predominant State in the kingdom, and entered on frequent wars of aggression with Cambodia, Annam, Vieng Chang, and Zimmé. In 1546, six years after the Burmese King of Toungoo had conquered Pegu, the Siamese commenced the series of wars with Burmah which ended in nearly exterminating the population of both countries.

Every able-bodied man who did not take refuge in flight was forced into the ranks, either to defend his country, or to attack that of his neighbours, or the neighbours of the power to which his own State was tributary. Armies, from forty thousand to two hundred thousand men strong, ravaged the land, and swept away, as in a great net, those of the inhabitants xviiiwho were not killed in battle. In vast tracts not a man, woman, or child remained; and elephants, rhinoceroses, tigers, deer, wild cattle, and other wild animals took possession of the devastated country. At length the Mon armies of Burmah, who hated forced service, mutinied, and, taking their wives and children with them, fled into Siam; and Zimmé, which had been under Burmah, except in times of rebellion, from 1558 to 1774, threw off the yoke and asked for the protection of Siam. To such an extent was the population thinned out by the incessant warfare, that when we annexed the Burmese province of Tenasserim, which borders Siam and Zimmé, we found in it barely seventy thousand souls.

Burmah is blessed with a fruitful soil and a bounteous rainfall. It only requires increased population to make it the garden of the East; and every chief commissioner, from Sir Arthur Phayre downwards, has advocated its connection with China by railway, as the means for supplying that want from the most industrious and enterprising people in Asia, the Chinese.

I take this opportunity to record my deep sense of gratitude to the Rev. J. N. Cushing, D.D., and the Rev. D. M‘Gilvary, D.D., who accompanied me as comrades and interpreters during part of my explorations, for their friendly endeavour to secure the success of my undertaking; and I have much pleasure in expressing my heartfelt appreciation of the frank cordiality and unwearying kindness accorded me by all the American Missionaries and Missionary Ladies during my stay in the country.

DR CUSHING’S ARRIVAL—A-HENG—LEAVE SHOAYGOON—GOLD AND SILVER CARRIED—FLOOD OF 1877—A BAD DRIVER—DOG OFFERED TO DEMONS—SOUSED IN THE HLINEBOAY—HLINEBOAY—TRADERS—MR BRYCE’S PARTY—ASKED TO JOIN PARTIES—DR CUSHING IN CHARGE OF COMMISSARIAT—LABELLING AND SORTING BASKETS—THE LUGGAGE—MEDICINES—KAREN INTERPRETER—LOADING THE ELEPHANTS—PORTOW AND LOOGALAY—MADRAS BOYS GOOD FIGHTERS.

“Dr Cushing here, sahib! boat coming:” so gasped Veyloo and Jewan, my Madras servants, as they came racing up the staircase of the teak-built court-house at Shoaygoon, where I was enjoying a smoke whilst reclining in my table-armed folding-chair. This chair, which was a miracle of comfort and convenience, together with my camp-bedstead, had been designed and constructed for me by A-heng, a very clever and honest Chinese contractor, who for many years had been employed by me in constructing bridges, court-houses, jails, bazaars, and various other public buildings whilst I was in charge of the Tenasserim division of Burmah. This division, measuring 630 miles in a north and south direction, forms the eastern portion of Lower Burmah, and is bordered on the east by Siam and the Siamese Shan States, 2through which I was about to journey in search of the best route for a railway to connect Burmah with South-western China.

Following the boys, who had rushed off as soon as they had given me the news, I scrambled down the steep bank of the Salween river, which forms the western boundary of the garden of the court-house, and reached the water’s edge some minutes before the boat stranded at my feet.

“Here we are, together at last!” I exclaimed, as I helped my future companion from the boat; “I do hope you are better. I was so glad you succeeded in persuading the doctor to allow you to come,—I should have been helpless without you.”

“Thanks; I feel better already, and hope to be all right in a day or two,” said Dr Cushing. “Jungle-life was what I wanted: my illness, although partly the after-effects of fever, was mainly due to being cooped up for months at indoor work. Have you got the elephants?”

“Yes,” I replied, “they are at Hlineboay, and I have arranged for seven carts to take our things there to-morrow. We can have them packed after lunch, and see if we shall require more. Come along; the boys have lunch ready.”

Meanwhile the boys had been welcoming Ramasawmy, Dr Cushing’s Madras servant; and Shoay Wai and Portow, the Shan interpreters, who had been hired for the expedition, were aiding the boatmen to unload the boat and carry the things to the court-house.

The next morning, the 21st of January, we were away early, Dr Cushing and I leading the way in the cart which carried our bedding and the treasure; the latter consisting of fifteen bags, each containing a hundred rupees, packed away in the tin boxes and waterproof bags amongst my clothing, and a heavy burden of gold-leaf, which for safety I carried on my person. How glad I was to place the gold in the custody of the missionaries at Zimmé when I arrived there! Very few men would care to be rich if they had to carry their wealth in bullion about them.

After continuing northwards along the river-bank for two miles we turned eastward, crossing the low land that lies 3between the Salween and the high laterite ground which separates it from the basin of the Hlineboay river. The highest point passed by the cart-road between Shoaygoon and Hlineboay is less than a hundred feet above the former place. The great flood of 1877 rose two feet six inches above the bank of the Salween at Shoaygoon, or to a level twenty feet above the ground in the interior; but owing to the breadth of the valley and the slope of the country, the flood-water passed off in a stream a mile in breadth and about ten feet deep.

Leaving the valley, we proceeded over laterite ground, amongst small trees and scrub-jungle. Before reaching the Hlineboay river we had been pretty nearly jolted to death by our abominable driver, the worst and most apathetic of his kind I have ever suffered from. The carts, as is usual in Burmah, were springless, and ordinary jolts might be expected; but this creature drove us against trees and over tree-roots a tyro might have avoided. I was particularly annoyed, as Dr Cushing was only just recovering from an attack of liver complaint. It was no use expostulating (though expostulate we did), for there only came bang, bang, bang over another tree-root. We had to laugh, the man seemed so utterly irreclaimable. Loogalay, my half-breed Burmese Mohammedan, who was walking by the cart, assured us that it was no use talking to the man,—“He was yainday (a country lout); born a bullock, and would die a buffalo”—that is, he was born a bumpkin and would die a blockhead.

On passing near the village of Quanta, which is situated about eleven miles from Shoaygoon, Dr Cushing called to me to hold my nose,—the Karens, to propitiate the nats (demons, gnomes, and fairies) of the vicinity, had sacrificed a dog to them, and the air for a hundred yards was reeking with the stench from the crucified remains.

A mile and a half farther on we entered the low ground bordering the Hlineboay river, and shortly afterwards came to the stream. The banks, even where cut away for the cart-road, were steep, and the ford was narrow. Here was a chance for our Jehu. When racing down the bank, instead 4of attending to the oxen he gazed back at the other carts. The cattle, turning sharply at the ford, dragged the cart into the deep water up-stream. We were soused up to our waists, our bedding was drenched, and I incurred three hours’ unexpected labour in cleaning and readjusting my surveying instruments, which would otherwise have been ruined by their bath. Our Handy Andy was not in the least discomposed by his achievement; it was an everyday feat to him: his countenance was a picture of impassive stolidity; he showed no signs of being horrified or even delighted at the effects of his carelessness. What could we do but laugh? He was indeed born a bullock, and fast merging into the buffalo. A mile and a half down-stream from the ford, skirting the river, brought us to Hlineboay, where we put up in the court-house, which the myook, or native judge and magistrate, had courteously placed at our disposal.

Hlineboay, a village of seven or eight hundred inhabitants, chiefly Karens, being the headquarters of a township, contains a court-house and police station. It lies at the junction of the thoroughfares from Thatone and Maulmain to the Shan States and China, and is at the navigation head of the Hlineboay river, and 111 miles distant by water from Maulmain. In the dry season, which lasts for half the year, it has a large local market and carries on a considerable trade. People congregate there from all directions. Scattered before the court-house you may see natives of India from Maulmain with cotton goods and twist; Burmans and Talaigus from the same place, with oil, salt, dried and salt fish, tinned provisions, and other commodities; Karen villagers with fowls, ducks, and pigs from the neighbouring districts; Shan and Toungthoo cattle-dealers from Thatone on their way to the Shan States; Chinese with mule-caravans from Yunnan; parties of Shans from Zimmé, with packs of beautifully worked silk garments, and others returning with woollen and cotton piece-goods and sundry articles of peddlery: the whole scene teeming with life and colour. In the rains trade becomes slack, and the Myook moves his quarters to Shoaygoon, opposite which 5the great teak-rafts drift down the Salween from Siam, the Shan States, and Karenni to the timber-yards at Maulmain.

Moung Tsan Yan, the Myook, an old acquaintance of mine, came to see us on our arrival, and told me that he had secured fourteen elephants, six for our party and eight for that of Mr Bryce, the head manager of the Bombay Trading Company, who had asked me to join parties with him, so that we might travel together as far as Zimmé. Dacoits might be lurking on the frontier: the more Europeans there were together, the less liable should we be to attack. I accordingly halted until the 23d, when, hearing that he was delayed, I determined to start, making short journeys in order to enable his party to overtake us.

Dr Cushing kindly took over the commissariat from me, and we set to work to sort and rearrange the baggage. Previous to leaving Maulmain I had purchased forty pahs, or baskets made of pliable wicker-work, each being about twenty inches long, fifteen inches broad, and ten inches deep, which would fit easily into the howdah of an elephant. These, after sorting, we labelled and numbered, entering the contents of each in my note-book.

Method in packing saves a great deal of trouble and time when on a journey. I never met a more methodical man than Dr Cushing. His arrangements were admirable. Everything was kept in its place. Each elephant load was stacked separately throughout the journey. Each driver had charge of his own load, and was held responsible for it.

Stores for several weeks’ supply were packed separately, two pahs together containing what was likely to be required each separate week; and no other pahs, except those in charge of the cook, were allowed to be opened without our consent. The cooking utensils, crockery, a dozen of brandy for medicinal purposes, two dozen of whisky, and some of the medicines, were packed in straw in small wooden cases. These, together with the pahs, two waterproof bags, and a tin box for clothes and money, my office-box, rugs, bedding, chairs, and camp-bedstead, and our two selves, formed the load of the six elephants which were to convey us and our 6belongings to Maing Loongyee, where fresh steeds had to be procured.

The medicines, purchased by me chiefly in England, were the usual ones carried in Indo-China. They consisted of quinine, Warburg’s tincture and arsenic for fever, ipecacuanha, Dover’s powder and laudanum for dysentery, Eno’s fruit-salt, Cockle’s pills and chlorodyne for lesser ailments; pain-killer for dispelling the agony of bites from noxious insects such as the huge dairy-keeping red ants that milk syrup from plant-lice, centipedes and scorpions; Goa powder for ringworm, the most general and contagious plague in the far East; and vaseline and Holloway’s ointment for abrasions of the skin and ordinary casualties so frequent on a journey. Dr Cushing was a doctor of souls: he knew, and would know, nothing of physic; he abhorred it. His wife had been the general practitioner on his former journeys. There was no help for it; I must be the physician as well as the leader of the party.

At daybreak on the 23d of January, having finished our packing and procured a Karen guide who could speak Burmese and Talaing to serve as my interpreter as far as Maing Loongyee, we had the elephants brought in and loaded. Here Dr Cushing’s power as an organiser became apparent. The baggage had been stacked into six loads, two smaller than the others for the elephants which were to be ridden by us. The howdahs, however, proved of unequal size, and some of them would not hold the tin boxes and cases which were intended for them. The air was filled with complaints and remonstrances. Each of the Karen mahouts, naturally, wished his beast to carry less than its portion. Each objected to have another burden foisted on him. Loogalay and Portow were worse than useless: both made confusion worse by fussing about, tugging at the Madras 7boys, and putting them out of temper by imperious commands mixed with abuse. Ignorance, according to the copy-books, is boastful, conceited, and sure. I never saw the proverb better exemplified than by these two men throughout the journey. It was impossible, in Portow’s opinion, that Portow could be mistaken; he knew everything; he was always ready and eager to advise, and equally ready to jeer at and snub any one else who ventured to do so: but although he had been the head-man of his village, and was an egregious blockhead and an egotistical bumpkin, he was eminently good-natured, and bore no malice when plagued, as he frequently was, by our Madras boys.

Loogalay, or Moung Loogalay, as he liked to be called, was a hectoring, swaggering blade, as gaily dressed as a game-cock, and as vain as an actor. A well-built lad of about two-and-twenty, who had been brought up in an English school, tall and good-looking, thoughtless, gay, and careless, in his gaily coloured Burmese costume he looked the beau-ideal of a dashing youth. His hair tied in a chignon on the top of his head, and festooned with a loosely arranged silk kerchief; his putso, or plaid, serving as a petticoat, with the end jauntily thrown over his shoulder; his clean white cotton jacket with gold buttons, and the flower stuck in his ear,—how could one help enjoying the sight of him, however much one might be put out by his indolence!

Madras boys, particularly those who have been attached to the officers of a native regiment, and have seen more or less of the world, generally have a pretty good opinion of themselves. Some are good wrestlers, and most of them can use their fists. Loogalay was employed as my henchman, or peon—not to do domestic service, but to attend to my wants on the journey; to pick up geological and botanical specimens, measure the depth and breadth of streams, help me when photographing, and carry instructions to the rest of the party. His salary was greater than that of the boys, and he looked upon himself as head boss over them. Anyhow, to him they were kulahs, his natural inferiors, mere savages or outer barbarians; he was a loo—a man and a Burman. Instead of giving orders as emanating from me, he 8constantly put their backs up by assuming mastery over them, and issuing orders as from himself.

“Heh! Kulah! put those here, not there. What are you about?—yainday!” he vociferated, as the boys were handing up the things to the elephant-drivers. The boys treated his orders with sullen disdain, and went on quietly attending to their business. Loogalay was stamping about and slapping his thighs, becoming more flushed every minute, and looking more and more like an enraged turkey-cock. I was enjoying the fun, sitting quietly smoking in my chair up in the court-house, and would have liked to have watched its further development. There is nothing like a thunderstorm to clear the air, or a good determined school-fight to put the young folk at their ease and knock sense into them. Dr Cushing, however, being in charge of the marching arrangements, put an end to the cabal by appearing on the scene and bundling Loogalay and Portow off to attend on the other elephants.

With his presence order came out of chaos, and by half-past seven we were ready to start. A quarter of an hour later Dr Cushing stepped off the verandah of the court-house on to the head of his elephant, sprawled over the greasy Karen mahout to the seat that had been prepared for him, said good-bye to the Myook, and headed the train of elephants as they commenced their journey.

SURVEYING—THANKFUL FOR A HALT—LEAVE HLINEBOAY—KAREN HOUSES INFESTED WITH BUGS—HALT NEAR WELL—RIGGING UP SHELTER FOR THE NIGHT—TENT LEFT BEHIND—TEAK-FOREST—YUNNANESE—A SCARE—EXPLODING BAMBOOS—TREES 130 FEET HIGH—A MID-DAY HALT—THE BRITISH GUARD-HOUSE—A NIGHT CAMP—GLUTINOUS RICE, MODE OF COOKING AND CARRIAGE—ELEPHANTS FEEDING—HEAVY DEW—JOURNEY DOWN THE YEMBINE VALLEY—MOTION OF ELEPHANTS—DIFFICULT SURVEYING—A PRACTICAL JOKE—RAILWAY TO RANGOON AND MANDALAY—HEATHEN KARENS—NO LONGER A MISSIONARY—DIFFICULTY IN CONVERTING BUDDHISTS—VENISON FOR DINNER—STUNG BY BEES—PASS BETWEEN THE THOUNGYEEN AND THE SALWEEN—TREES 25 FEET IN CIRCUMFERENCE—LIMESTONE CLIFFS—OFFERING TO THE DEAD—DESCENT TO THE THOUNGYEEN—THE FORD.

Surveying by time-distances and a prismatic compass, when on the march, requires a steady hand, a quick judgment for selecting an object for your angle, and a good memory. If the hand is unsteady, the ring of the compass, which is balanced on a needle, will not come to rest. In a jungle-clad country you must watch the foremost elephant as it winds through the trees, and rapidly select the point for your next angle as the animal is just passing from view. A good memory is required, otherwise in noticing the trees, rocks, by-paths, width and depth of streams, breadth of fields, size of villages, and taking sketches of, and angles to, neighbouring hills, you will forget the object, twig, branch or trunk of tree, that you have aimed at.

Having taken your angle, you must catch up the last elephant—for you are taking your distances by the time it takes in passing over the ground—and observe the time and 10your next angle on arriving at the object you had formerly chosen. This constant observation, continuing from dawn to dark with one interval for refreshment, is a great strain upon one’s attention, and when joined with the necessity of taking heights from the aneroid barometer, and temperatures from the thermometer at every change of level, makes one thankful for a halt at the foot or summit of a mountain pass, where one has to check the height by the boiling-point thermometer.

For the first hour after leaving Hlineboay we passed over slightly undulating ground, covered with stunted trees and scrub-jungle, and then entered paddy-fields through which we proceeded to Quambee, a Talaing, or Pwo, Karen village in a rice-plain over half a mile in breadth. To the east of the plain amongst the forest appeared many isolated hills and knolls, backed up by a boldly defined peaked range of hills, the Dana Toung, distant about fifteen miles, which forms the water-parting between the Thoungyeen and Salween rivers.

There being no zayat, or rest-house, in the village, and Karen houses being generally infested with bugs, we decided to camp in a grove of large trees in the vicinity of a well, from which we could draw water for bathing and cooking. After the elephants were unloaded and we had finished our supper, a shelter for the night was quickly formed with a few bamboos, roofed with two large waterproof sheets which I luckily had with me. My tent had been left behind in Maulmain through an oversight of the boys; and although the Bombay Burmah party kindly brought it with them to Hlineboay, it may be still at the latter place, as they had not carriage sufficient to bring it farther. A tent is a cumbersome and costly thing to carry about, and we managed very well for several months without one.

The next day we resumed our short stages, hoping that Mr Bryce’s party would catch us up. The country continued of much the same character as between Hlineboay and Quambee—only, cultivated fields became rarer, isolated hills more numerous, and teak-trees were frequently interspersed in the forest. The first night from 11Quambee we spent in a zayat on the bank of the Hlineboay river.

Towards dark a party of Chinese from Yunnan, who had sold their goods at Zimmé, came scampering by, armed with Shan dahs or swords, spears, and very antiquated horse-pistols. They were conducting a caravan of between forty and fifty mules and ponies to Maulmain, intending to bring them back laden with piece-goods and general articles of merchandise. They ultimately camped about half a mile from us, as several times in the evening we heard from that direction what we considered to be the discharge of firearms. Chinamen were not likely to waste powder in frightening off dacoits or wild beasts when they had any simpler, equally efficient, and cheaper means at command; and next morning we learnt our mistake in a very unexpected and alarming manner. We were suddenly awakened by a fusillade of reports around our camp. I jumped up, seized my Winchester, and rushed out, thinking that our party was being attacked. I found the boys squatting quietly round the fire, grinning like monkeys, and heaping on joints of green bamboos. The liquid in the cavities turning to steam under the influence of heat, caused them to explode, thus giving rise to the reports which had startled us. The rascals had learnt the trick from Portow, and were amusing themselves at our expense, being evidently bent on giving us a good fright.

Leaving the zayat a little before seven, we crossed the river and clambered over a low hillock, and continued through the forest, with teak-trees still appearing at intervals. Small hills and spurs from the Kyouk Toung range were occasionally seen to the east, backed up by the Yare-they-mare hill, a great spur of the Dana range, some four miles distant. About half-past eight we crossed the Hlineboay river for the last time, and shortly afterwards ascended 80 feet to the crest of the high ground, 300 feet above sea-level, and seventeen miles from Hlineboay, which forms the water-parting between the Hlineboay and Yambine rivers.

Thence we passed through the forest, still occasionally with teak-trees, following the course of the 12Yingan stream, with hills at times bordering on either side, and halted at half-past eleven for breakfast by the side of the stream, under a magnificent clump of thyt-si trees, which produce the celebrated black varnish. These monarchs of the forest, 130 feet in height, owing to great buttresses springing from the stem some feet from the ground, were of enormous girth, and looked truly magnificent. Here was a perfect place for a mid-day halt: hill, forest, and water scenery all combined; a cool stream as a bath for the elephants and ourselves; shelter from the heat of the sun; a pleasant glade for a ramble whilst breakfast was being prepared. Nothing was wanting but the songs of birds and the rippling chatter and laughter of girls to make our picnic all that could possibly be desired. Day after day, month after month, we enjoyed such picnics on our travels.

We struck camp at a quarter past two, and after a little more than an hour’s journey, still following the stream, reached Teh-dau-Sakan, the halting-place close to the Lanma-Gyee Garté, the last British police post on our road to the Shan States—having thoroughly enjoyed our day.

The police station, which is situated twenty-four miles from Hlineboay, consists of two thatched buildings built of bamboo, and surrounded with a dilapidated stockade, which would have been useless as a defence against dacoits. It was occupied by ten or twelve Madras constables, who complained much of the feverishness of the locality, and begged for quinine, saying they were out of it. I never met less intelligent men in my life; they seemed to know nothing of the locality, and the idea of a map was utterly incomprehensible to them—they had not been educated up to it. There was no getting any information from them; the whole current of their thoughts ran towards carna and pice (food and money), and their bodily ailments.

We erected our shelter for the night about a hundred yards from the station, in a grove of thyt-si trees, each measuring from 30 to 40 feet in circumference five feet from the ground. A large party of Shans from Lapoon encamped near us, and came over in the evening for a chat with our men. Camp-fires were dotted around us in all directions. 13Each elephant had, besides the mahout, an attendant to look after its wants, lop branches off banian and other trees for its food, shackle its fore-feet when we halted, and aid in its morning, noonday, and evening bath.

Each couple of men built a fire for themselves, and kept it alight during the night, partly for warmth and partly to scare wild beasts that might be wandering around. Kouknyin, the glutinous rice eaten by the Karens, is steamed, and not boiled. An earthen pot, or chatty, is placed upon three stones or clods of earth, which serve as a tripod; on the top of the pot is placed the basket containing the rice, and the junction is made air-tight with a wet cotton rag. A fire is then lighted under the pot, and the steam from the water in the pot rises into the rice and cooks it. Whilst hot the rice is stuffed into joints of green bamboos about a foot in length, and eaten when required. Joints of green bamboos likewise serve them for kettles: placed slanting over a fire, the water soon boils. The elephants feeding in the neighbourhood could be heard crashing through the bushes, rending off branches that suited their fancy. These animals were our sentinels, and would trumpet if a tiger came roving in their neighbourhood.

It would have been pleasant to sit in the open air and watch the stars as they twinkled through the trees, if it had not been for the heavy dew which commenced to fall soon after sundown. Loogalay’s mosquito-curtains, made of stout cotton cloth, were dripping wet the next morning, and he came with a long face and wrung them out before us. Portow merely jeered at him, and asked why he had not erected a leaf-shelter, as the other men had done. It is worse than useless complaining of the effects of one’s folly in a company of wits.

Next morning, the 26th of January, we ordered two of the elephants to be got ready to take us on an excursion down the Yembine valley, the farther end of which I had visited on a tour up the Salween. This would give me a chance of learning to survey from the top of an elephant. At first thoughts one would deem such a feat to be impossible; the pitching and rolling of the huge beast, which goes along like 14a Dutch lugger in a chopping sea, would prevent the compass being brought to rest, and most likely jam it into one’s eye. Yet, by giving way to the swaying movements of the brute, I managed to get as perfect results as when surveying on foot. From thenceforth, during my land journeys, I surveyed from the back of an elephant.

The boys, in packing our breakfast for us, perhaps out of fun, omitted not only to put in my cigars, but also our knives, forks, and spoons, forcing us to improvise some out of slips of bamboo to avoid having to feed native-fashion, with our fingers.

Following the stream of the Yingan till it joined the Yembine, we continued down the valley of the latter, accompanied by the mournful wailing of the gibbons in the forest, the plain gradually opening out to more than a mile in width, but contracting at times to a quarter of a mile, as spurs jutted in from either side. After travelling for three hours and a half, we halted for breakfast at the Karen village of Nga-peur-dau, which is beautifully situated on the hillside to the south of the valley.

The hills opposite the village were bold, and in some places precipitous, appearing as though they had been punched up from below, and were most likely mural limestone. Clay-slate, limestone, and sandstone are the chief rocks in this part of the country. Silver, copper, lead, and iron pyrites are found in Bo Toung, a hill some miles to the north of Nga-peur-dau, and felspar and porphyry are met with along the Salween some distance above Yembine.

We were now within eight miles of the village of Yembine, which is situated at the junction of the Yembine with the Salween. After walking about a mile and a half farther along the hillside, it became evident that a railway could be carried from Yembine to Teh-dau-Sakan with the greatest ease, meeting no difficulties in its path. I had previously ascertained, by visiting Yembine, that the Salween could be crossed in the defile to the south of it by a bridge of four or five hundred feet span; and, from my former experience in the country, I was aware that a line could be carried from the Rangoon and Mandalay Railway to this crossing through 15one continuous plain. It remained to be seen whether such a line could be continued along the course we were taking to South-western China, or whether the better course lay eastwards from Maulmain to Raheng, and thence northwards to the same goal.

We learnt from the Karen villagers that the Karens in the hamlets scattered through this region, and those to the north and the east, are still heathens, and I was glad to find that the missionaries are now on their scent. Most of the Karens elsewhere in Lower Burmah have become Christians, and the American Presbyterian and Baptist missionaries, who have so well worked the field, are turning their attention to Upper Burmah, Karenni, the Shan States, and Siam. I was amused by reading in a missionary report some months ago the complaint of a missionary that all the Karens in his district had embraced Christianity, and he had not another one to convert. He was a pastor, but no longer a missionary.

The Karens, Shans, Kakhyens, and other hill tribes, who are spirit-worshippers and not Buddhists, are the stocks from which converts are produced in Burmah and Siam. If you wish to have Burmese Christians, it is necessary to train them in mission schools from childhood. A Burmese adult behaves like a goat in the sheep-fold. He skips in and out as it suits him. Too often he merely enters to see what he can get from the shepherd. It is said to cost more to convert a Burman than it does to convert a Jew. A Roman Catholic missionary told me some years ago that he very much doubted whether his mission had ever made a real convert out of an adult Burman. As the sapling is bent, so the tree grows.

Having finished the inspection, we returned to camp, where I regaled myself with my long-wished-for smoke. The boys, when scolded for their delinquencies, pretended to look chapfallen; but I am afraid I had a twinkle in my eyes when rebuking them, as I saw the three convulsed with laughter before they were many paces away. During our absence the other elephant-drivers had shot a deer, and on our return presented us with a leg. This was a delightful 16surprise, as we had been subsisting on fowls and tinned provisions for several days.

The next day was Sunday, so we had a delightful day’s halt. I sent some of the Karens off to the neighbouring villages to obtain sufficient fowls and rice for our journey to Maing Loongyee, where we could obtain a fresh supply. Veyloo and Jewan went off on a lark, but soon returned in a dismal plight to seek my aid. In attempting to get honey, one had been stung on the eyelid, the other on the neck. An application of Perry Davis’s pain-killer acted like magic, taking away the pain; and a little ointment sent them off again light-hearted—putting down their punishment, I hope, to their yesterday’s conduct.

On Monday we started a little before seven, and followed the Yembine and its branches to the crest of the pass over the range which divides the drainage of the Salween from that of the Thoungyeen. The pass—32 miles from Hlineboay—has its crest 612 feet above sea-level, or 446 feet above our camp at Teh-dau-Sakan. On our way we met a party of Shans proceeding to Maulmain. A descent of about 50 feet from the crest brought us to the plateau, interspersed with detached hills, which is separated from the narrow plain through which the Thoungyeen runs, by a row of cliff-faced masses of limestone 1000 and 2000 feet in height, between which the drainage of the country flows to the river.

Close to the northern foot of the pass we came to the Tee-tee-ko stream, flowing through a pretty and pleasantly wooded valley, along which we proceeded. Turning up a northern affluent, when the Tee-tee-ko turned to the east on its way to the river, we halted for the night under some noble Kanyin trees. These trees, from which a brown resin and superior wood-oil is procured, have stems, often 25 feet in circumference, rising straight as a dart 120 feet from the ground to the first branch. The dense foliage completely shuts out the rays of the sun, thus affording a splendid shade for a mid-day halt. You do not realise their enormous size until from a distance you notice how dwarfed people camping under them appear. An 17elephant by their side looks like a pig under an ordinary tree.

The next morning, at a distance of two miles from the pass, we crossed the Meh Pau, a stream 60 feet wide and 7 feet deep, which, flowing from our right, enters the Thoungyeen some distance below the Siamese guard-house and below our point of crossing. We then clambered up a circular knoll rising 700 feet above the plateau, and had a fine view of the Pau-kee-lay Toung—one of the precipitous limestone masses lying three-quarters of a mile to the east. Descending from the knoll, which is ascended by the track to save half a mile of extra distance, we breakfasted on the bank of the Koo Saik Choung, just above its rapid descent between two great limestone precipices to the river.

At the junction of one of the many roads which diverged to Karen villages and the Thoungyeen from our track after leaving the pass, we noticed the death-offering of some Sgau Karens belonging to a neighbouring village. The offering was a propitiatory one to the spirit of the deceased, and proffered in order to induce it not to return and haunt the village. A silver coin had been placed in the ground beneath a rudely carved figure, on the top of which narrow strips of red and white cloth were hung; around the figure was a tiny fence, roofed in with a small bamboo platform. Miniature jackets and trousers were suspended from small poles at the sides of the fence. Food, which had been placed on the platform, was no longer there—the thieving birds having most likely deprived the poor ghost of it.

After breakfast we entered the defile, and descended from the plateau in the bed of the Koo Saik Choung, which falls 135 feet in the distance of a mile in a series of gentle cascades, separated by ice-cold running pools as clear as crystal; the towering precipices on either side looming through the trees, with their crests hidden by the dense foliage, and the natural colonnade formed by the evergreen forest through which we were passing rendering the air delightfully cool. How charming it would have been to have breakfasted in this pleasant retreat among the lichen-covered limestone boulders, mosses, and ferns! Leaving the defile, we followed 18the Thoungyeen down-stream past the Siamese guard-station, which lies on the other bank—the river forming the frontier—to the ford.

The river at the ford is 250 feet wide from bank to bank, with the channel reduced to 70 feet by a great shoal of boulders, now uncovered, stretching from the western bank. The current being swift and the water chest-deep, some of the men were nearly swept away whilst crossing. The boys went in up to their hips, and stood trembling, afraid to proceed farther. I therefore told them to return to the strand, and I would send elephants from the camp to bring them across.

The bank of the river is about 206 feet above mean sea-level at Maulmain. After passing the ford, we crossed the Meh Tha Wah, passed the guard-house, and camped about half a mile off, near the stream and some rice-fields. As soon as the elephants were unloaded, I sent two back for the boys; but meanwhile they had found their way to the ferry, and crossed the river in a boat. The guard-house is 38 miles from Hlineboay.

REV. D. WEBSTER’S PARTY DETAINED—SIAMESE OFFICIALS EXPECT BRIBES—PHOTOGRAPHIC PLATES ALL SPOILT—VISIT FROM KARENS—JOINED BY THE B.B. PARTY—SIAMESE POLICE POST—GORGES IN THE THOUNGYEEN AND MEH NIUM—RAPIDS STOP NAVIGATION—FORESTS AND ELEPHANTS—DWARF RACES—KAMOOK AND KAMAIT SLAVES HIRED BY OUR FORESTERS—MIGRATION OF LAOS FROM TONQUIN—THE KHAS OF LUANG PRABANG—SACRIFICES TO DEMONS—DRINKING THE HEALTH OF STRANGERS—KING OF SIAM ALLOWS SLAVE-HUNTING—MISSIONARIES REQUIRED IN THE MEH KONG VALLEY—LEAVE THE GUARD-HOUSE—CROSSING THE WATER-PARTING—WILD TEA—KAREN VILLAGES BUILT DISTANT FROM ROAD—COUNTRY FORMERLY LACUSTRINE—SHELTER FOR THE NIGHT—HEAVY RAIN—A SHOWER-BATH IN BED—ELEPHANTS CROSSING STEEP HILLS—WILD ANIMALS—REACH THE MEH NIUM—KAREN PIGS—REMAINS OF A LAKE-BOTTOM—THE MAING LOONGYEE PLAIN—EPIDEMIC OF SMALLPOX—VILLAGES TABOOED—ARRIVE AT MAING LOONGYEE—MOUNG HMOON TAW’S HOUSE—A TIMBER PRINCE AND THE MONEY-LENDERS.

The sala, or traveller’s rest-house, we found occupied by the Rev. David Webster, who with his wife and pretty little golden-haired daughter was on his way to Zimmé by a route to the south of that we intended taking. Mr Webster is a missionary of the American Baptist Mission, which together with the American Presbyterian Mission has been highly successful in civilising and converting the Karens in Burmah. He was now on his way to the Siamese Shan States, as he had heard from some of his converts that there were many Karens in Central Indo-China.

In Burmah he had only been able to hire elephants to carry them as far as the frontier, and was therefore at the mercy of the Siamese official in charge of the guard. He had omitted on principle to grease this petty potentate’s 20palms, with the result that he had been detained waiting for thirteen days. Having lost patience, he had endeavoured to hire the elephants direct from the Karens instead of waiting for the Jack-in-office to take action, but found the Karens were afraid to let them on hire to him for fear of rousing their tyrant’s anger, or having to part with a portion of the hire.

I stopped over the next day to allow the Bombay Burmah party to join us, which they did in the afternoon. In the morning I unpacked my photographic apparatus, and took views of the country, guard-station, and Mr Webster’s party, which included several Karen girls who were attached to their schools. When unpacking the dry plates, I was dismayed to find many adhering to the tissue-paper covers, and all of them spotted by damp. As I opened packet after packet on my journey, I found them all in the same plight, and before I reached Zimmé ceased photographing, and sent the views—some fifty in number—that I had taken, to Mr Klier, the photographer in Rangoon, who had kindly promised to develop them for me.

In the afternoon a Karen man with his little boy and girl came to visit our camp. The children were greatly pleased with the bead necklaces which I gave them. Messrs Bryce and Boss, who had with them ten elephants and eleven ponies and mules—the latter purchased from the Chinese caravan which had passed us when halting on the Hlineboay river—arrived towards dusk, and camped near us.

The Siamese frontier post consists of five buildings, enclosed by a bamboo stockade. The officer in charge of the Laos or Shan police did not inquire for our passports, and allowed Mr Bryce’s large treasure-guard to march by unquestioned. He had no hope of squeezing anything out of the party, and therefore paid no attention to it.

Our intention had been to proceed from the guard-station down the Thoungyeen to its junction with the Meh Nium, and up the latter river to Maing Loongyee; but on inquiry we learnt that such a route was utterly impracticable. The numerous rapids in both rivers rendered them 21impassable for boats, and even for canoes. Neither elephants nor men could follow the banks, as the rivers passed through great gorges—the cliffs from both sides rising from their beds. We had therefore to turn eastwards, and following branch valleys and spurs, cross the Karroway Toung, or Parrot’s Hill, into the valley of the Meh Ngor, which enters the Meh Nium above the defiles, through which it escapes from the hills.

A large amount of teak timber has for many years been taken from the forests in the Thoungyeen valley. The Siamese had lately raised the tax from five to six rupees a log: their revenue in 1884 from this source amounted to upwards of two lakhs of rupees. Two hundred and sixty elephants were at work in the forests, which, like other forests in Siam, Karenni, and the Shan States, are worked by our Maulmain Burmese foresters. There is a large sale amongst the foresters of tinned milk, salmon, sardines, butter, and biscuits—all coming from Maulmain.

The Kamooks and Kamaits, who attend to the elephants and fell the timber, belong to the dwarf races of Indo-China, and are brought by their masters from their homes in the neighbourhood of Luang Prabang, and hired to our foresters at from sixty to a hundred rupees a year; each master keeping twenty-five rupees or more out of each year’s salary, and the foresters find the men with food.

The Khas, who include the Kamooks and Kamaits, are doubtless the aborigines of the country lying between the Meh Kong or Cambodia river, and the Annam and Tonquin seaboard. They are supposed to have been ousted from the plains and driven into the hills by hordes of Laos, an eastern branch of the Shans, migrating from Tonquin when it was conquered by the Chinese about B.C. 110.

According to the American missionaries who have visited Luang Prabang, the Khas are harmless and honest but ignorant, and despised by their Laos masters. Their villages are erected within stockades, on the summits of the mountains. The majority, however, live in isolated houses, which with their clearings stand out in bold relief against the sky. They cultivate rice, cotton, tobacco, vegetables, fruit, and betel-nut 22trees; collect stick-lac from the pouk and zi trees, and gold from the torrent-beds; and prepare cutch for chewing with the leaf of the seri vine, betel-nut, and lime. They are likewise great cattle-breeders, and many of the fine buffaloes met with in Burmah have been brought from Luang Prabang.

The Kha villages form the wealth of the Laos, who reside in the valley of the Meh Kong, to the east of the river. The Khas are known to the Siamese as Kha Chays, or slaves, and are treated as such. According to the Laos chief of Luang Prabang, the seven tribes of Khas in his territory are four times as numerous as his Laos subjects. Dr Neis, who has traversed a great part of his State, believes this opinion to be within the mark. Each Kha has to pay a tribute to his Laos or Siamese master. Without the Khas, their lazy, pleasure-loving, opium-smoking masters would have to work, or die of hunger. The extortion practised upon these kindly-dispositioned people has frequently driven them into revolt. In 1879 they joined the Chinese marauders in their attack upon the Laos; and also in 1887, when they sacked and destroyed Luang Prabang, the chief town and capital of the Shan State of that name.

The Khas, like all the hill tribes in Indo-China, offer sacrifices to evil spirits, who, according to them, are the cause of all the ills that man is heir to. In a single case of sickness as many as ten or twelve buffaloes, or other animals, are at times offered up.

They do honour to their guests and distinguished visitors by calling together the young men of the neighbourhood to drink their health in rice-spirit. Those whom I met were happy, cheery, hard-working men with pleasant faces, which, although flat, were not Mongolian, but, I think, Dravidian in type. Their expression betokened freedom from care, frankness, and good-nature. Those measured by me averaged four feet and nine inches in height, and, like the Negritos of the Andaman Isles, few exceed five feet. Their limbs were symmetrically formed, and altogether the Khas looked vigorous, pliant, and active little men. The Kamooks whom I saw, dressed in jackets and trousers dyed blue similar to those worn by the Burmese Shans, and wore their long hair drawn back from 23their forehead and fastened in a knot at the back of the head.

As long as the King of Siam allows the harmless hill tribes to the east of the Meh Kong to be hunted down, and held and sold as slaves by his subjects, so long should he be abhorred and placed in the same category as the ferocious monsters who have been and are the ruling curses of Africa. The sooner missionaries, American and English, are sent to Luang Prabang, and other places in the valley of the Meh Kong, the sooner will the King of Siam be shamed into putting a stop to the proceedings of the slave-dealers, who, according to French travellers up the Meh Kong, are fast depopulating the hills. There can be little doubt that the Khas, being spirit-worshippers like the Karens, and not Buddhists, would flock into the Christian fold in the same manner that the Karens have done.

During our stay near the guard-house, the temperature in the shade varied between 46° and 81°, the extreme cold being at daybreak, and the greatest heat at two o’clock in the afternoon.

On the morning of the 31st of January we left early, and following the Meh Tha Wah, and its northern branch the Meh Plor, and crossing two spurs for the sake of shortness, reached the summit of the pass over the great spur that separates the drainage of the Meh Tha Wah from that of the Meh Too, which enters the Thoungyeen two or three miles below the guard-house—the crest of the pass being 46 miles distant from Hlineboay, and 2060 feet above sea-level. The spur can easily be avoided by following the valley of the Meh Too.

Leaving the pass, we descended along the Tsin-sway, or Elephant-tusk, stream to the Meh Too, dropping 300 feet in the mile and a half. Proceeding up the Meh Too, we camped for the night at the forty-ninth mile.

The next morning we left early. A mile on, the stream forked, and we followed the intervening spur, which gradually flattened out and spread until we reached the foot of the pass over the Karroway Toung. A short climb of 400 feet past an outcrop of limestone, led us to the crest, 2817 feet 24above the sea, and 52 miles from Hlineboay, from whence we had a magnificent view of the country to the west. Here Mr Bryce’s party passed us, and we did not see it again until we reached Maing Loongyee.

Having taken some photographs, we followed a rivulet and descended 260 feet in a mile to the Oo-caw, a small stream which flows eastwards into the Meh Ngor, where we halted for breakfast. During the descent from the pass the Shans brought me branches of the tea-plant, which was growing wild in the hills. Its long narrow leaves reminded me of the willow. The men told me that it was likewise found on the route from Maulmain to Raheng, as well as in the ranges to the north of the pass right up to China. Some of the plants were fully 15 feet in height.

From the Oo-caw we should have descended to the Meh Ngor, and followed the stream to the Meh Nium, as Dr Richardson had done on his journey to Zimmé in 1829; but the elephant-drivers said that the route was overgrown, the Karens preferring to keep open the hill-path, along which, owing to the shallowness of the streams, they could proceed throughout the year. Since leaving the Thoungyeen we had met a few parties of Karens, but had not seen any of their villages, as they build them away from the main tracks.

From the Oo-caw the road passes over a series of great spurs, separated by narrow steep-sided valleys, often merely a dip to the stream-bed. From the crests of the main spurs, which were occasionally higher than the summit of the pass, we had magnificent views of the country, which has the appearance of the desiccated remains of a great rolling plateau, the crest of the spurs following the wave-line across the main valley of the Meh Ngor.

There can be no doubt that the hill-bounded plateaux and valleys in the Shan States were at one time lakes, which were subsequently drained—some by subterranean channels, the stream reappearing on the other side of the hills, and others by great rifts made across the hills by earthquake action. The numerous mineral and hot springs we passed, and the earthquakes which still occur at times in the country, bespeak the continuance of unrest near the surface.

25After scrambling over six great spurs, we halted for the night near a small mountain-stream. The strata seen since leaving the Thoungyeen had been limestone, sandstone, and shales, each appearing at various times. Many fine tree-ferns were noticed during the day.

The next day rain commenced at half-past three in the morning, and the showers continued until noon. Our howdahs were without covers during this stage of the journey, so we could not creep into them to escape from the storms which occasionally happen in the hills. Our shelter for the night consisted of a few lopped branches of trees, stuck in the ground, serving as rafters and wall-plates for our covering of waterproof sheets, while plaids hanging from the wall-plates formed the walls. This was amply sufficient to keep off the heavy dewfall, but enough care had not been spent on it to secure us from rain. I had turned in much fatigued, having stayed up late inking over the pencil notes in my field-book and writing up my journals, and had slept through the first shower, when I was awakened at half-past five by Dr Cushing, who told me I had better turn out as it was raining in torrents. I merely replied “All right,” and went to sleep again. Soon the water gathering on the waterproofs, which we had rigged up as a shelter, weighed them down and came pouring on to my mosquito-curtains, and, soaking through them, effectually brought me out of dreamland; but I got no compassion from my companion, who absolutely roared with laughter at my being ducked. A change of clothes and a peg of whisky were at hand, and having lit a cigar, I was ready to crouch out the storm cheerfully.

Rain again commenced to pour down at seven o’clock, but we could not afford to delay, so struck our camp and departed. After crossing four spurs, we halted for breakfast at eleven near two deserted houses. The path, owing to the rain, was rendered so slippery, and was so steep, that the elephants at times had to slide down on their bellies, with their legs stretching out behind and before them. To see these great clumsy-looking brutes constantly kneeling down, crouching on their haunches, and then rising again, as they ascended and descended the hillsides, in order to keep 26their equilibrium and reduce the leverage; never making a false step; putting one foot surely and firmly down before lifting another, and moving them in no fixed rotation, but as if their hind and fore quarters belonged to two independent bipeds; every movement calculated with the greatest nicety and judgment,—forced one to admire the sagacity and strength of the animals, and the wonderful manner in which their joints are adapted to their work.

As soon as breakfast was over we resumed our march, and crossing two more spurs, descended from the last one to the Meh Ngor, a stream 100 feet broad with banks 18 feet high. After following this stream for a mile, we camped for the night. Limestone and sandstone, with occasional shales, were the only rocks previously noticed: here trap cropped up for the first time, and teak-trees again appeared in the forest. We were now 66 miles from Hlineboay, and 396 feet above the sea.

Elephants, rhinoceroses, tigers, wild cattle larger than buffaloes, elk-deer, pigs, and other wild animals, are said to abound in these hills. We had heard tigers and deer round our camp nearly every night since we left Teh-dau-Sakan. The boys were at first frightened, and used to borrow my gun to scare the tigers away, but now had become accustomed to the peril, and ceased bothering me. Pea-fowl were plentiful, as we frequently heard them screeching in the morning.

Next morning, starting a little after seven, and skirting the stream for four miles, we crossed the Meh Ngor not far from its junction with the Meh Nium, and soon after entered the teak-clad Huay Ma Kok hills, which separate the Meh Ngor from the Meh Laik. Up and down again we went over hill and valley, instead of following the level path along the Meh Nium; past the Huay Ma Kok, which is a circular subsidence or depression 150 feet wide and 20 feet deep, on the top of a spur, until we came to and crossed the Meh Laik, by which we camped near a cliff of blue slate rock. The rocks exposed in the latter part of the journey were indurated clays and sandstones, both veined with quartz and shales and conglomerates.

27The following morning a two miles’ march over a hill in a dense mist brought us to Meh Ka Tone, a good-sized house on the banks of the Meh Nium. The river is here about 150 feet broad, with banks 12 feet high, and water 3 feet deep. Meh Ka Tone lies 76 miles from Hlineboay, and 451 feet above sea-level.

The house belonged to a forester who was absent, having left a Kamook slave in charge. Two Karen pigs, small, hairy, slate-coloured creatures, with dark bristling manes, were tied up by perpendicular strings under the house, so that they could neither lie down nor walk until the strings were slackened. As we had been feeding on tinned meat for the last two days, some of our fowls having been quietly appropriated by the Karens, we tried hard to persuade the man to sell us one of the pigs and a few of the fowls that were scuttling about, but all in vain,—they were his master’s property, and he dared not part with them at any price without his consent.

Resuming the march and proceeding up the valley, now and then crossing hill-spurs and river-bends for the sake of shortness, at the eighty-third mile we again entered cultivated land, near the deserted village of Meh Kok, the site of which is now only marked by cocoa-nut and mango trees. The crests of the main spurs of the ranges of hills on either side appeared to be three miles distant; but on the west, a curious parallel range or formation, rising some 500 or 600 feet above the plain, lies between the main range and the river. On visiting these hills from Maing Loongyee we found them a perfect maze of equal elevation, looking like a gigantic Chinese puzzle, composed solely of friable earth, and rapidly frittering away,—there could be no doubt that we were looking at the remains of an old lake-bottom.

The plain, which is adorned with a great variety of flowering trees and shrubs, like the rest of the country we had passed through, containing much valuable timber besides teak, gradually increased in breadth as we proceeded, and is a mile and a half wide at Maing Loongyee. Several Karen and Lawa, and a few Shan, villages are dotted about it, but the cultivation is insufficient for the wants of the people, 28most of whom are engaged in forest operations. Rice has therefore to be imported from Zimmé.

Many of the villages in the plain were placed under taboo, owing to an outbreak of smallpox, a disease much dreaded by the hill tribes. The paths leading to such villages are stopped by a branch of a tree being thrown across them, and magical formulæ are stuck up in order to keep the evil spirits who propagate the disease from the village. No stranger dare enter a village so guarded. Should he do so, and death or illness subsequently happen, he would be held responsible. Life, or the price of life, for life, is exacted in such cases.

We halted for the night on the bank of the river, and starting early, reached Maing Loongyee the next morning. Finding that the zayat, or rest-house, was occupied by the Bombay Burmah Company, we despatched a messenger to Moung Kin, a relation of the celebrated Moulmain forester Moung Hmoon Taw, who works the Maing Loongyee teak-forests, and he at once hospitably placed the best part of his premises at our disposal. This arrangement proved very fortunate, as I was thus enabled to procure the most reliable information about the country.

The dwelling-house consisted of three separate buildings, built of teak and shingle-roofed, erected on a large square platform raised eight feet from the ground on posts. The house was situated in a compound enclosed by a stockade, separated from the river by a broad cattle-path, and surrounded on two sides by an orchard fringed with a fine hedge of roses eight feet in height. Two of the buildings on opposite sides of the platform, separated from each other by a broad passage, served as residences for the family. One of these, consisting of three rooms, was handed over for our use. The third building was situated near the north end of the platform, and served as a cook-house and servants’ quarters. We felt quite in clover after our spell of camp life.

Moung Hmoon Taw, to whom the house belonged, was one of the kings of the teak trade. During the last three years, owing to scarcity of rain, he had been unable to float 29his timber out of the forests, and was therefore unable to repay the loans he had received from the Chetties, or Native of India Bankers. By no means alarmed at his position, he had lately astonished the bankers by sending them a letter through his solicitor demanding a further loan, and stating that unless he received it at once, he would be unable to pay them the sums they had advanced him. There was small doubt that the bankers would be compliant, as they could not afford to lose the 25 lakhs of rupees (£200,000) that was then due from him. The crash was, however, only put off for a time, as last year he became bankrupt. Poor Moung Hmoon Taw! poor bankers! I know who suffered most—not Moung Hmoon Taw. The bankruptcy proceedings were subsequently withdrawn.

MAING LOONGYEE TRAVERSED BY WAR-PATHS—DR RICHARDSON’S VISIT—PRICE OF SLAVES—DR CUSHING’S VISIT—RAIDED BY KARENNIS—THE CITY AND SUBURBS—VISIT THE GOVERNOR—THE SHAN STATES—GOVERNMENT—SUCCESSION TO THE THRONE—TITLES—MODES OF EXECUTION—ZIMMÉ FORMERLY EXTENDED FROM THE SALWEEN TO THE MEH KONG—THE GOVERNOR AND HIS BROTHER—THE BAZAAR—DISTRIBUTING SEEDS—INFORMATION FROM FORESTERS—COLLECTING VOCABULARIES—MOUNG LOOGALAY—PORTOW—A MAGICIAN—DR CUSHING AT WORK AND EXASPERATED—VISIT TO ANCIENT CITY AND TO THE EARTH-HILLS—CROSSING THE RIVER—A DANGEROUS WALK—PINE-TREES—NUMBER OF LAWA, KAREN, AND SHAN VILLAGES—POPULATION—A KAREN DANCE—ENTICING A LAWA—DESCRIPTION—SIMILARITY BETWEEN KAMOOK AND LAWA LANGUAGES—VISIT TO THE GOVERNOR—EFFECT OF A TELEGRAM—ELEPHANTS HIRED FOR FOREST WORK FROM KARENS—MODE OF ATTACK OF MALE AND FEMALE ELEPHANTS.

The muang, or principality, called Maing Loongyee by the Burmese, and Muang Nium by the Shans, is traversed by war-paths leading from Burmah to Zimmé and Siam, along which great armies of invaders have passed; it was, moreover, subject to frequent inroads of man-stealers from Karenni, an independent State, which borders the muang on the north-west.

Dr Richardson, who visited Maing Loongyee in 1829, three years after we had annexed Maulmain, found it nearly deserted, containing, besides the hill denizens, only 200 houses, distributed among eight villages: the one occupying the site of the city had only ten or twelve dwellings in it.

The teak-forests were then unworked, and its principal export was black cattle—from 2000 to 8000 of these being yearly taken to Karenni and exchanged for slaves, ponies, 31tin, and stick-lac. Seven bullocks were bartered for a young man, and from eight to ten for a young woman; the very best bullock being valued at five shillings.

When Dr Cushing passed through the muang in 1870, the Burmese Shans, now British Shans, and Karennis had recommenced their raids into the country; and the Siamese Shans and our foresters had been shut up in the city for six months, not daring to venture into the district except in large bodies capable of defending themselves. These hostilities, lasting nine or ten years, had ceased four years previous to my visit, and the muang was recovering from their effects.

The city, which is built in the form of a parallelogram placed nearly true to the cardinal points, and stockaded on all four sides, measures 1740 feet from north to south, and 1050 feet from east to west. It lies 96 miles by road from Hlineboay, and is situated on a knoll, rising 15 feet above the plain and 635 feet above sea-level, in the northern angle formed by the junction of the Meh Sa Lin with the Meh Nium. It is occupied chiefly by Zimmé Shans, and contains 66 houses and two monasteries.

Like all Zimmé Shan towns, it has a peculiar air of regularity and neatness; the ends of the Shan houses invariably facing north and south, and the edges of the roofs, when of leaf or thatch, being accurately trimmed. The roads are well laid-out, ditched on either side, and attended to. A strict system of conservancy is in force, and no refuse is allowed to be heaped outside the houses and palisaded gardens. Aqueducts convey water from the upper course of the Meh Sa Lin, and distribute it through the town. The greater part of the cultivation in the Shan States is carried on by means of such irrigating channels, and in this way two crops of rice are raised in the vicinity of the town.

The suburbs, which are built at the north and west of the city, and outside the stockade, include 104 houses, mostly well built and of teak, chiefly occupied by our foresters and British Shan traders. Three monasteries in the Burmese style, and a pagoda, have been built by the Burmese thitgoungs, or head foresters, in the northern suburb, and another monastery was in course of erection. The people of Maing 32Loongyee are said to feed on teak, the teak timber trade forming their chief means of support.

Having dismissed the elephants, we went into the city to call on the Siamese official, who was acting as deputy-governor during the absence of the chief at Bangkok. Chow Rat Sampan, the chief, a first cousin of the late Queen of Zimmé, is looked upon as the ablest man in the kingdom. Backed by the influence of the queen, he had gone to Bangkok to get himself appointed second King of Zimmé by the Siamese monarch.

The Shan States are small kingdoms, each containing a number of principalities or muangs. Each State is ruled in a patriarchal fashion by a court, comprising the first and second kings and three other princes of the blood-royal.

The succession to the throne primarily depends upon the person chosen by the court and people being of princely descent—all such are called chow or prince; secondly, upon his influence and wealth, the number of his serfs and slaves, business capacity, integrity, and his popularity with the serfs; lastly, and now chiefly, upon his interest at the Siamese court.

The first and second king usually select the other three chiefs, but their choice has to be confirmed by the King of Siam. The governors of Muang Nium, Muang Pai, Kiang Hai, and other principalities, are appointed by the King of Zimmé, who, like the King of Nan, has been granted the title of Chow Che Wit, or lord of life, by the King of Siam. The chiefs of Lakon, Lapoon, Peh, Tern, and Luang Prabang have only the title of Chow Hluang (Chow Luong or great prince). The title of Chow Che Wit was only allowed to the King of Zimmé in 1883. A Chow Che Wit can order a criminal to be decapitated. Chow Hluangs can only order execution by piercing the heart with a spear.

The Siamese Shan State of Zimmé at the beginning of the eighteenth century extended from the Salween to the Meh Kong. It had jurisdiction over the whole of the States lying in the basins of the upper portions of the Meh Nam, the Meh Ping, and the Meh Wung, comprising Zimmé, Nan, Peh, Lapoon, Lakon, and Tern; their governors being appointed 33by the King of Zimmé. The disruption of the kingdom resulted from the anarchy reigning in the middle of the eighteenth century, when Zimmé, then tributary to the Burmese, threw off its allegiance and became feudatory to Siam. Zimmé has now hardly a nominal supremacy over Lapoon, Lakon, and Tern, although the rulers are appointed from the same family; and Nan and Peh are perfectly independent of it, owing allegiance only to Siam.

We found the Siamese potentate squatting cross-legged, like a great apathetic indolent toad, upon a raised section of his covered verandah, in company with his brother, the head-man of the Siamese frontier post at Daguinseik. Daguinseik is the ford where the main track from Pahpoon to Zimmé crosses the Salween. No greeting was accorded us, no approach to the semblance of courtesy was shown us by these two unmannerly boors, who, like all low-minded Jacks-in-office, considered arrogance and incivility necessary in up-holding their dignity.

Dr Cushing, who accompanied me as interpreter on the expedition, was naturally annoyed at the rudeness and grumpiness of our reception, and was intentionally brusque in expressing our requirements. These comprised six fresh elephants to carry us to Muang Haut, or, if possible, to Zimmé. The governor, who had been up night after night at the poay, or play, which was being given in honour of a 34youth who was about to join the priesthood, merely yawned in our faces, and left the answering to his brother.

We were assured that there would be great difficulty in getting our elephants, as Mr Bryce’s party required ten, and would have to be served first as they had arrived the day before us; that the elephants were a long distance off working in the forests, and could not arrive for three days at the earliest. I replied that every day was of importance to us, that there were many elephants dawdling about the place, and that I saw no necessity for us to be kept waiting. He said that the elephants I had noticed belonged to the foresters, not to the Karens, and could not be hired to us. We then departed without either of the human toads rising from his haunches.

Meanwhile the boys had been rambling about the town making their purchases and bargaining from stall to stall; everything was double, or more than double, the Maulmain price, and hardly anything in the shape of edibles was to be got. Pork had been sold off in the early morning; no cattle had been killed, therefore beef was not to be had; fowls and ducks were not sold at the stalls, but hawked round to the different houses by the Karens who brought them in. Onions, beans, mustard-leaves, and pumpkins were all the vegetables they could procure: these, with eggs, dried fish, and wafer-bread, they had brought back with them. It would have been only tinned meat again for dinner had not Moung Kin come to the rescue and presented us with some fowls. At the same time, he told us that he would have a cow milked, and we should have fresh milk with our tea next day.

Disappointment came with the morning. The cow kicked the milk-pail over, so we got no milk. Seeing how scarce vegetables were in the bazaar, and considering it likely that we should be kept for several days waiting for the elephants, I sowed a crop of mustard and cress, which we reaped and enjoyed before we left. The curator of the Rangoon Public Gardens had kindly given me a large parcel of English vegetable seeds, and another of Liberian coffee, which I distributed at the various places we stopped 35at, on the promise that the villagers would plant and attend to them; and I trust that future travellers through the country will find cause to thank me. During our stay at Maing Loongyee, which lasted from the 5th to the 13th of February, I gathered information from the foresters about the country; collected vocabularies of the Kamook, Lawa, and other languages; and made a few short excursions. Loogalay thoroughly enjoyed himself, starring about amongst the Burmese in his best plumage, boasting of the great position he held in the expedition, and joining in the festivities that were going on day and night during our stay. Portow was in his element. He set up as an oracle, and was accordingly consulted. He knew, or thought he knew, what I was about, and the why and the wherefore of everything I was doing. I have no doubt that he led the people to look upon me as a powerful magician.

Dr Cushing, who is the greatest living Shan scholar, was accompanying me as interpreter in order to study the different Shan dialects, and was hard at work, when not at meals or out for a stroll, from morning to night.

Although the delay was rasping to me, as I was eager to be off, and Dr Cushing was exasperated at Mr Bryce’s party getting elephants two days before us, we all enjoyed our stay at Maing Loongyee.

One day we visited the remains of the two ancient cities of Yain Sa Lin, situated about a mile to the south-east of the town, and surrounded and divided from each other by moats and ditches. Their area, which is now overgrown by a forest of great trees, is much larger than that of Maing Loongyee, but contains no visible ruins of ancient date. The small pagodas and ruined temples are modern, having been built in recent times by villagers occupying and cultivating part of the enclosure. The cities were situated on a knoll, and the western ramparts have been swept away by the encroachments of the river. The old city, together with 400 Talaings, or Peguans, according to the ‘Lapoon Chronicle,’ were handed over to the Shan chief of Lapoon as a dowry when he married the daughter of Thoo-tha Thoma, the King of Pegu, in A.D. 1289.

36Another day we crossed the river, which lies to the west of the town, to visit the earth-hills and take photographs of the country from the platform of a pagoda, which stands out well against the sky. The water was about three feet deep, and the bottom covered with large pebbles, giving a rather insecure foothold. I was carried across perched on the shoulders of two men. Dr Cushing waded the stream, and resumed his nether garments on the other bank. I could not help glancing slily at him as he tottered along, his predicament being so ridiculous for such a grave and learned man, and his action so like that of the pilgrim who had not boiled his peas.

The path over the hills was covered with small rounded gravel washed out of the earth, which rendered it very slippery for shod feet. The hills were crested with large pine-trees, the first we had seen, and their sides were crumbling away in great landslips caused by the small streams, which carried off the rainfall, undermining the friable earth. Some of the spurs we passed along were barely two feet wide at the top, with slopes often nearly sheer descents. Walking along these, and peering at times into the abysses, I suddenly became dizzy, and had to take a man’s hand to help me along until I reached a broader track. On and on we went, trying to reach the pagoda. The hills proved to be maze-like in character; so at last we gave up the attempt, and I took the photographs from another position. I was not sorry when we got back to the house without a mishap.

From the foresters, purposely summoned by Moung Kin to give me the information, I procured the names of thirty-three Lawa villages, forty-six fixed Karen villages, and eleven Shan villages, including the city, in the basin of the Meh Nium, and its branches. The Lawa villages contained on an average forty-two houses; the Karen, twenty houses; and the Shan, thirty-six houses. None of these foresters were working in the valley of the Meh Ngor, so its fixed villages are omitted.

The villages which are occupied by the Karen Yain—the wild or timid Karens—were said to contain as many people as the rest of the villages put together; but as these villages 37are temporary erections, only occupied for a year or two at a time, no accurate account could be given of them.

I was assured that the average number of people living in a house was seven; but even allowing only five, there would be upwards of 13,000 people in the fixed villages on my list, and as many more among the wild Karens. Taking into account the fixed villages not on my list, the gross population in the basin of the Meh Nium cannot fall far short of 30,000 souls.

The Siamese deputy, on being questioned on the subject, said that he had no list of the villages or census of the people; but there must be at least 3000 Zimmé Shans, 4000 Lawas, and 5000 fixed Karens, chiefly of the Sgau and Pwo and Sho tribes, in the muang. He could make no guess at the number of the Karen Yain; but they were very numerous. His estimate of the Shans and fixed Karens tallied well with the account given by the foresters; but the Lawas are twice as numerous as he thought they were.

The villages of the Sgau and Sho tribes of Karens are found scattered through the hills far down into the Malay Peninsula. One of their dances resembles the sword-dance of the Highlanders of Scotland, and is thus described by a gentleman who was present at it in a Karen village in the hills behind Petchaburee: Two smooth straight bamboo poles were placed parallel to each other on the ground, about eight feet apart. Across these, and at right angles to them, smaller bamboo sticks are laid—two in a place—so as to form spaces about ten inches wide between each pair of sticks. The musicians take their seats on the ground, by the sides of the parallel poles, and each takes an end of the short cross-sticks in each of his hands. These sticks he first taps together, then shifts them right and left so as to strike those of his neighbours on each side, to make a tapping musical noise, all keeping perfect time together.

The dancers, who are dressed in their most fantastic style, with painted faces, feathers in their turbans, &c., then take their places, and one after another dance into these spaces and along between the parallel poles. As they leap up, the sticks pass under their feet, and they must use their feet so 38dexterously as not to touch the cross-sticks which are constantly passing to and fro under them. As many as four or five dancers would be leaping up and down, across from end to end, at once, and all keeping perfectly together.

Day after day we tried to inveigle a Lawa into the house, but in vain. At length Moung Kin succeeded in enticing one there who had come with some friends on business to the city. We were elated; we had at last got a real live Lawa—one of the aborigines of the country: what should we get out of him?

He proved to be a tall, good-looking, well-built stripling, aged eighteen, with hair cut in the Siamese fashion and thrown back from his square perpendicular forehead, and eyes with no Mongolian incline about them, but slightly more opened at the inner corners than those of Europeans. He looked painfully shy, and very much ill at ease when he saw the trap he had got into.

I offered him a cigar, which he accepted and nervously twiddled about in his fingers, looking every now and then over his shoulder to see whether any of his companions had followed him, or to calculate the chance for escape. After striking a light for him, I said we were very interested in his people, and wished to learn what we could about their manners and customs, and a few words of their language; and that, if he gave me the information, I would pay him for his trouble, and give him some beads to take to his people.

He grew gradually more composed, but still appeared very uneasy. He said their customs were precisely similar to those of the Shans. Like them, they were now Buddhists, and had monasteries in the larger villages. They called themselves L’wa; water they called ra-own; fire, ngau; man, pree-ra-mee; woman, pa-ra-peum; day, meu-sun-nyit; and night, thom.

He then implored me to let him go, as his friends were waiting for him; and he promised to come again in the evening with a friend, and give us further information. A bird in the hand, particularly such a shy bird as this Lawa, is worth two in the bush; but as he was growing more restless 39and uneasy every moment, I gave him a rupee and a couple of bead necklaces, and promised him more if he kept his appointment. We then said good-bye, and he hurried off with his presents to join his companions. True to his word, he brought a comrade in the evening, and, being quite at his ease, gave us all the information we required. All our questions were answered in a frank, intelligent manner.

There was nothing very peculiar about their aspect. With complexions slightly darker than the natives of Burmah, their front faces were rather square, remarkable for their high and broad cheek-bones; their side faces seemed flat, owing to the prominence of their perpendicular foreheads; their noses were longer than those of the Burmese; and a line drawn from the top of their foreheads would leave the tips of nose, lips, and chin outside. The under jaws, far from being heavy, were slightly more angular than those of the neighbouring races. The bottom of the ear was about level with that of the nose; and the noses of the race vary greatly from well-formed straight ones, with the nostrils slightly expanding, to perpendicular for half the length, then ordinary pug for the remainder. I was altogether pleasantly disappointed with the race, having from previous accounts expected to see an ill-favoured, ill-shapen, cumbersome-looking people. The Lawa villages are permanent residences, having been occupied by them as far as tradition reaches. Their language has a strong affinity to that of the Kamook, many of the words, such as fish, foot, dog, cry, hand, mother, rice, pony, deer, river, names for other races, &c., being identical. They are, however, in appearance distinct races, and it is not unlikely that the Kamook acquired their present language from the Bau Lawa when the latter were the ruling race in Central and Southern Indo-China, and before the majority of the Lawas lost their own language and acquired that of the Shans.

The day Mr Bryce’s party left we went to the Governor’s house to have it out with him. He being absent, we went up-stairs and sat in the verandah awaiting his return, nursing our wrath to keep it warm. Presently his brother of Daguinseik came in without a jacket, wearing the dirtiest 40dishclout of a petticoat I have ever seen. His body was otherwise bare, and he looked a slovenly, unkempt savage.

He said they had been doing their utmost to procure elephants for us, but without success. This I knew to be false, as Mr Bryce had told me that their attention had been solely applied to the festivities that were going on, and that for three days after his arrival they had merely yawned over his requirements, and made no ghost of an attempt to aid him in procuring the animals.

Just as we were in the middle of our expostulations, a police constable arrived with letters and a telegram for me, forwarded in all haste by the Deputy-Commissioner at Pahpoon. I may here state that during the journeys letters were frequently sent after and from me by relays of special messengers, and in no case was a letter lost. The arrival of the constable worked like a charm, and had an immediate effect upon the manners of the Siamese official. Asking to be excused for a few minutes, he hurried away, and soon returned with his now not yawning brother, who came along buttoning up his blue-cloth police jacket, which he had not deigned to wear before, seemingly wide awake and anxious to help us.

He said that he had been doing his best, and hoped to get the elephants for us by the following day, or by the next morning at the latest; and when we talked of leaving our things to follow us and proceeding at once to Muang Haut on foot, begged us to wait till the next day, when he would let us know the upshot of his endeavours.

As soon as we had returned home, a messenger came to Moung Kin, asking him to proceed at once to the Governor’s house. On his return, he informed me that an arrangement had been made whereby the Governor would hire to us three elephants, at thirty rupees each, to take us to Muang Haut, and he, Moung Kin, would let us have three more for forty rupees each. These would be ready at dawn the day after to-morrow. Thirty rupees is the usual hire for the journey; we were therefore fleeced out of thirty rupees in this little bargain, but as time was precious, I grinned and bore it.

Most of the elephants working in the teak-forests are 41owned by Karens, who hire them out to the foresters at from fifty to seventy rupees a month. The price includes the driver, but not the attendant, or any expenses incurred for the elephant.

In talking of the wages given in the forest, Moung Kin told me that larger wages had to be given to the drivers and attendants of vicious female elephants than even to those of rogue male elephants. It appears that male elephants close their eyes when they charge, and, lowering their heads in order to use their tusks, afford an opportunity for the driver to scramble up to his seat on the neck, and thus regain his mastery of the beast. Not so with the females. They approach open-eyed, use their trunks as weapons, and lash about with them—or with a sudden grip seize a man, crunch him à la boa-constrictor, and throw him lifeless, or nearly so, on the ground, to be trampled on.

LEAVE MAING LOONGYEE—A HUNDRED-FOOT WATERFALL—A BEAUTIFUL HILL-TORRENT—A LUGUBRIOUS TALE—GIBBONS—GIGANTIC TREE-FERNS—SHANS CRUEL ELEPHANT-DRIVERS—METHOD OF DRIVING—DROVES OF PIGS AND LADEN CATTLE—LOI PWE—AN ACCIDENT—WILD RASPBERRIES—SHANS BARTERING GOODS—THE MEH LAIK VALLEY—A FALL OF 2049 FEET—PATHS FOR THE RAILWAY—LAWA VILLAGES—ABORIGINES—BURIAL CUSTOM—HUMAN SACRIFICES IN THE SHAN STATES AND CHINA—LEGEND CONCERNING THE CONQUEST OF THE LAWAS BY THE SHANS—THE VIRGIN OF THE LOTUS-FLOWER—GAUDAMA SACRIFICED TO AS THE GODDESS OF MERCY—SACRIFICES TO ANCESTORS AND DEMONS—SIMILARITY OF SUPERSTITIONS IN ANCIENT CHALDEA AND THE SHAN STATES—PHOTOGRAPHING LAWAS—CLOTHING WORN FOR DECENCY’S SAKE—COSTUME OF LAWAS—COLD NIGHTS—VIEW OF THE HILLS—BAU-GYEE—IRON-MINES GUARDED BY DEMONS—A YOUNG BLACKSMITH.

On the 13th of February the elephants were brought leisurely in one by one from the forest, where they had been tethered for the night, the last arriving about ten o’clock. A few minutes later everything was packed, and, facing eastwards, we were again off over the hills and far away.

After fording the Meh Sa Lin near the town, and passing through Yain Sa Lin, we crossed the Meh Gat, and proceeded along a good road over a spur, where limestone, slate, and claystone, veined with quartz, cropped up, to the Meh Ka Ni. This stream, turning to the north at the point we first crossed it, tumbles over a couple of falls, one 70 feet, the other 100 feet high, and flows through a ravine into the Meh Sa Lin.

43The valley of the Meh Ka Ni, up which we ascended, is narrow, the crests of the hills on either side being barely two miles apart. The hill-slopes are well wooded with large and valuable timber. Many of the trees give a splendid shade, and are evergreen. Down the valley, in a bed of granite 30 feet broad, strewn with great granite boulders, leaps and dashes a foaming torrent in the rainy season. At the time of our visit it was but a rivulet falling in little cascades, dancing round the rocks, sparkling in the sunlight, and flowing gently through pleasant pools, delightful to bathe in. For five miles we journeyed through the deep shade of the forest, frequently crossing the stream, and then halted for the night at Pang Hpan. On our way we passed several parties of Kamooks and Karen villagers, and met large caravans of laden oxen conveying paddy and betel-nut to Maing Loongyee.

The camping-ground, situated in an open plain near the meeting-place of several side valleys, lies 105 miles from Hlineboay, and 1753 feet above the sea. The highest shade-temperature during the day had been 73°, and our ride up the pretty glen had been extremely pleasant.

After dinner, in the course of conversation, Dr Cushing, thinking, perhaps, that I was a Mark Tapley, and that a lugubrious tale might cheer me up, told me that he was a most unlucky companion to travel with. All his former comrades had died on the journey, or soon afterwards. He then backed up his statement with three instances. Kelly, a missionary, was drowned one day’s journey from Moné; Lyon, another missionary, had died of consumption at Bhamo; and Cooper had been killed by one of his guard at Bhamo. I instanced his wife, who was then in America, as an exception. It was of no use—she was his better half—I was a doomed man.

Next morning the thermometer stood at 48°, the same as it had been at Maing Loongyee. The trees, however, were shedding their leaves far less in the upper valley than in the lower country. Starting about eight o’clock, accompanied by the mournful wailing of gibbons, who were practising the trapeze from tree to tree far above our heads, and making astounding leaps, we continued up the glen, passing large droves of Karen pigs, and caravans of laden cattle, 44until the stream forked, and we ascended the intermediate spur to the crest of Loi Kom Ngam—the Beautiful Golden Mountain—the hill-range dividing the drainage of the Meh Sa Lin from that of the Meh Laik.

Gigantic tree-ferns, and the first chestnuts we had seen, were passed as we clambered the spur; and we noticed trees in bloom bearing a red flower, and a large periwinkle-blue creeper which, spreading over the largest trees, spangled them with blossoms. Before reaching the summit we had a magnificent view down the nine miles of valley we had been ascending, extending across the Meh Mum valley to the hills beyond the Salween river. The pass, which is 109 miles from Hlineboay, is 3609 feet above sea-level.

A short descent of 70 feet brought us to a little valley, which we crossed; then following a spur, we descended to the Meh Hau, a small stream draining into the Meh Laik here at a level of 2638 feet above the sea. We had fallen nearly 1000 feet in less than three miles. Crossing the spur which separates the Meh Hau from the Meh Lye, we halted for the night near some springs at the 115th mile.

45Left the next morning at seven o’clock and descended for a mile to the Meh Lye, passing on our way 109 laden cattle. The Meh Lai—River of Variegated Water—is 20 feet wide and five feet deep; sandstone and quartz outcrop in its bed. Looking down-stream to the south, we had a pretty view, bounded by pine-clad spurs, into the Meh Laik valley.

Our Karen mahouts had been replaced by Shans at Maing Loongyee. The Shans proved much more cruel drivers than the Karens. The latter seldom used the cruel-looking hammer-hook, or ankus, they all carry, but coax and talk to the elephants; whilst the Shans correct the slightest misdemeanour by a blow that draws blood, and seek for obedience solely by bullying the beasts. The drivers, both Shan and Karen, urge their elephants on by a continuous irritation of the creature’s ears with their toes, which are worked in an incessant pendulous movement at the back of them. They likewise assume all sorts of attitudes on the animal’s head. Squatting on one leg with the other dangling down, lolling over the bump on its forehead, straddle-legged, and side-saddle fashion, but for ever with one set of toes or the other, or both, titillating the brute’s ears.

From the Meh Lai we ascended a small glen for a little more than a mile, and shortly afterwards entered a narrow defile, where we halted for a few minutes to allow 135 laden cattle and a drove of 40 pigs to pass. Leaving the defile, a 46magnificent panorama spread out before us. Looking west, the eye ranged over the spurs we had crossed since leaving the pass. To the north about eight miles distant, over the hills bordering the Meh Sa Lin valley, stood out clear against the sky the bald-headed and partly precipitous summit of Loi Pwe. Here was a chance, not to be lost, for taking sketches and photographs and fixing the lie of the country.

Loi Pwe is the nucleus from which many of the spurs and minor ranges stretching into the valleys of the Meh Nium and Meh Laik have their origin. It is joined on to the Bau plateau by spurs some 15 miles in length, radiating in straight lines. Most of the hills in this region are approximately of similar elevation, their crests seeming to be the remains of a great rolling table-land eaten into valleys by centuries of erosion in the stream-beds.

On remounting the elephant, the howdah, owing to the slackness of the girth, commenced to lose its equilibrium, and I should have been precipitated to the ground, a distance of 11 feet, if I had not stepped on to the head of the beast and saved myself from falling by clinging to the greasy perspiring mahout. I had presence of mind sufficient to pocket my watch and instruments, or they would have inevitably been ruined.

Ten minutes after restarting we reached the summit of Loi Tone Wye, or Loi Tong Wai, situated 118 miles from Hlineboay and 3885 feet above the sea. Great fern-trees, 50 feet in height, the highest I have ever seen or heard of, adorned the crest of the hill. Portow brought me a handful of wild white raspberries he had just picked for me to eat. Before reaching the summit we noticed a Lawa village nestling on a hill-slope to the north of us.

On the narrow plateau forming the summit of the hill, we found a large encampment of Shans with many laden cattle. Some of the men had opened their packs and were bartering their merchandise with a number of Karens who had come from the neighbouring villages. Startled by our sudden appearance, most likely never having seen a white-face before, the latter took to their heels, fleeing as if the devil was after them, and did not venture from their hidingplaces 47until after our breakfast, when we were preparing to resume our march. Then they came, as shy and inquisitive as cattle, and had a good look at us from a respectful distance.

From Loi Tong Wai we had a magnificent view of the hills in all directions. The great plateau of Bau, 15 miles to the east, and about the same level as the ground we were standing on, was clearly outlined against the sky; and the great trough of the wave between it and us was filled with a multitude of great spurs, crested with fine timber and divided from each other by steep-sided narrow valleys.

To the south-west, 10 miles distant, was the gorge where the Meh Laik passes through Loi Kom Ngam on its way to the Meh Nium; beyond was a sea of hills stretching as far as the eye could reach to the high peak lying to the south-east of our pass over the Karroway Toung. The cliff-faced gap through which the river rushes, tumbling hundreds of feet at a time, is impassable even to the sure-footed Karens. In the 24 miles’ course of the stream between our two crossings its bed falls 2049 feet. The greater part of this drop is said to occur in this short gorge, which must be one of the wildest and grandest scenes in the world.

48If the railway from Maulmain is carried up the valley of the Meh Laik, gradually rising along the hill-spurs, a gallery cut in the face of the gorge would enable the line to proceed towards Zimmé without passing, viâ Maing Loongyee, over the hills we have been crossing since we left the city. A better path, however, most likely exists up one of the valleys to the north of Loi Pwe, which would cross the Zimmé hills, descending by the valley of the Meh Sai, which lies between Loi Kom and the Bau plateau.

A gradual descent for four and a half miles brought us to the Meh Laik. Sandstone and quartz, and claystone veined with quartz, cropped up on the sides of the plateau and its spurs, but the bed of the river, 15 feet broad and 4 feet deep, is composed of black-speckled white granite. Our crossing lies 123 miles from Hlineboay and 2508 feet above the sea.

Leaving the stream, we ascended a few feet, and, continuing for half a mile through pine-forest, descended to a rice-plain, where the road traversed in 1879 by Colonel Street and Mr Colquhoun, when on their mission to Zimmé, joins our route. Crossing the Meh Tha Ket, a small stream which flows through the plain, and two dry streams which exposed a great depth of soil, we passed to the north of the Lawa village of Bau Sa Lee, and, fording the Meh Hto, camped for the night on its bank, 125 miles from Hlineboay. A thousand feet down-stream from our camp the Meh Hto is joined by the Meh Tyen. Both streams flow in a bed of granite boulders, and the village is situated at their junction.

In the evening I enticed two of the head-men to the camp, and gained some information about them and the features of the country. They told me the Lawas still occupied the village sites held by them before the Shans and Karens settled in the country. They had no written language, and were now Buddhists like the Shans, and had the same manners and customs. Their villages are scattered through the hills and plateaux as far south as the latitude 49of Bangkok, and they believed themselves to be the aborigines of the country.

The only difference between their customs and those of the Ping Shans lay in their always burying their dead, whereas the Ping Shans, except in cases of death from infectious diseases or in childbirth, burn them. Burial, however, is still observed by the British Shans. When a Lawa dies, a coffin is made by scooping out the log of a tree, and the corpse is placed in it and covered with a stout lid. After three days the priest is called and the body buried. As amongst the Karens, the personal property of the deceased is interred with the corpse.

The practice of burning their dead amongst the Shans must be of recent date, for in the middle of the sixteenth century, when they first became feudatory to Burmah, burial was the rule—elephants, ponies, and slaves being interred with the chiefs. The Burmese emperor Bureng Naung strictly prohibited the continuance of the custom. Similar observances were usual in olden times amongst the Turkish or Hiung Nu and Scythian tribes in Asia, and with the Tsin dynasty in China as well as amongst the ancient Greeks, as evidenced by Homer’s ‘Iliad.’ The latest record of such human sacrifices in China concerns the obsequies of the Emperor Chi Hwang, B.C. 209, when all the members of the harem having no sons had to follow him in death.

The following legend concerning the conquest of the Lawas by the Shans was told me by Chow Oo Boon, the sister of the Queen of Zimmé, who was the spirit-medium and historian of the Royal Family.

Nan Cham-a-ta-we, a virgin of the lotus-flower, had two sons, who were born at Lapoon. At that time the whole of the country was occupied by the Lawas. The Lawa king met and fell desperately in love with the virgin, and for many years urged his suit. She, being unwilling to accept him as her husband, pleaded the youth of her children making it necessary for her to be constantly in attendance on them, as an excuse.

50When the lads became young men, the king still tormenting her with his wooing, she promised to become his bride if he proved able to cast three spears from the top of Loi Soo Tayp, a hill to the north-west of Zimmé rising 6000 feet above the plain, into the centre of the city of Lapoon, a distance of 18 miles. His first cast being successful, she determined to foil him in his further attempts, and accordingly wove a hat out of her cast-off garments and coaxed him to wear it, saying it would greatly add to his strength. His next throw fell short of the city, and, his strength decreasing through the magical powers of the hat, his third spear fell at the foot of Loi Soo Tayp.

The king becoming weaker and weaker, the two sons of the virgin, named A-nan-ta-yote and Ma-nan-ta-yote, being enraged at the Lawa monarch for his pursuit of their mother, determined to drive him from the country. This they were enabled to do through the great merit accruing to them from their birth, which gave them magical powers.

As soon as the elder was born, a large white elephant came and voluntarily served as his domestic animal. Leaves thrown from him turned into fully equipped soldiers, and handfuls of kine-grass became armies as he breathed on them. Having created a great host, he mounted his white elephant, and forced the Lawa king to flee, and pursued him.

On reaching Kiang Hai, the elephant being heated and excited with the chase, the people of the place fled like sheep chased by a dog, shouting out “Chang Hai,” wild elephant. Continuing the chase through Kiang Hsen, the elephant roared so loudly that the people scattered in all directions screaming “Chang Hsen,” roaring elephant.

Having banished the Lawa king from the country, the kine-grass soldiers founded the city of Muang Poo Kah, the kine-grass city, the remains of which are still visible some distance to the north of Kiang Hsen. The virgin of the lotus-flower became ruler of Lapoon, and her eldest son went to Pegu, where he is still worshipped at festivals with dancing, mirth, and music.

Lapoon is named from La, or Lawa, and poon, a spear; 51Kiang Hai from the elephant being vicious; and Kiang Hsen from its trumpeting.

The virgin of the lotus-flower is depicted by the Shans and Siamese as a mermaid holding a lotus-flower in her left hand, presumably in connection with the belief amongst the Chinese that Kwan-yin, the goddess of mercy, the offspring of the lotus-flower, terminates the torments of souls in purgatory by casting a lotus-flower on them.

In China, miniature offerings are laid before images of this goddess as a hint for her to convey the articles implied by their likenesses to the spirits of friends or relations. The offerings, frequently accompanied by a scroll stating who the articles are for, consist of miniatures cut out of paper, of money, houses, furniture, carts, ponies, sedan-chairs, pipes, male and female slaves, and all that one on this earth might wish for in the way of comfort. In Siam and the Shan States there being no temple to this goddess, Buddha, who is generally depicted as sitting on a lotus-flower, is besought to do her work, and similar articles are heaped on his altar—but 52cut out of wood, or formed of rags or any kinds of rubbish, as paper is not so easily obtainable.

The same miniature images are offered by the Shans and hill tribes to the spirits of their ancestors and the ghosts and demons which haunt their neighbourhood, and food and flowers are left in the little dolls’ houses which are erected for them. If neglected and uncared for, the spirits become spiteful, and bring disease, misfortune, or death to those living in or passing through their neighbourhood.

To any one travelling with his eyes open in China and Indo-China, it becomes evident that Buddhism is merely a veneer, spread over the people’s belief in ancient Turanian and Dravidian superstitions. The belief in divination, charms, omens, exorcism, sorcery, mediums, witchcraft and ghosts, and in demons ever on the alert to plague and torment them individually, is universal, except perhaps amongst the highly educated classes, throughout the country. Comparing these beliefs with those appearing in the Accadian literature of Chaldea, B.C. 2230, as given by George Smith in his History of Babylonia, one is astonished at the perfect sameness of the superstitions.

The next morning, as one of the elephants had strayed away during the night and had to be tracked and brought back, I visited the village of Bau Sa Lee to take photographs of the people. The men had not the slightest objection to being taken; but the women, particularly the younger ones, skurried off as soon as they heard what I was about, and hid themselves in their houses. At length, by the gift of a necklace and a few small silver coins, I persuaded an old woman to fetch two little girls and stand for her portrait with them.

The Lawa women are the only natives in Indo-China whom I have seen wearing their hair parted in the middle, in the mode general amongst women in England a few years ago. Their hair is gathered up and tied in a knot at the back of the head, like that of the ladies amongst the Burmese and Shans. Unlike the Siamese and Zimmé Shans, the Lawa women wear upper clothing for decency’s sake, and not solely for the sake of warmth. Their dress consists of a short skirt reaching to their knees, and a black tunic having a darkred 53stripe on the outer edge. Some of the elder women wear a piece of cloth on their heads folded into a sort of turban.

The nights were rapidly getting colder; at five in the afternoon the thermometer showed 70°, at six in the morning it had fallen to 38°. We had to sleep dressed in our clothes under our plaids to keep warm; and the men sat huddled up, chatting and toasting themselves by the fires, for many hours towards the morning.

Leaving the Meh Hto, we ascended 1150 feet by an easy spur, through a nearly leafless forest of hill-eng and teak, to the top of Loi Kaung Hin—the Hill of the Stone-heap—so called from a cairn on its summit.

Cresting the hill, we were again amongst the fragrant pine-forest. The air was deliciously cool, and the view was superb; I therefore decided to halt and sketch the country from an orchid-covered crag above a precipice several hundred feet in depth. Across the valleys of the Meh Hto, Meh Lyt, and Meh Sa Lin, nearly due north-east and distant 13 miles, we could see Loi Pwe, giving rise to numerous valleys. Between it and due north, on the slope of a great flat-topped spur in the valley of the Meh Tyen, lay the Lawa village of Bau Kong Loi, and beyond the Zimmé hills stretched away till lost in the haze. The whole country looked like a chopping sea of hills, in which it would be impossible, without actual survey, to settle the direction of the drainage. The main range was so cut up by cross-valleys that any one of the valleys I had not visited might drain either into the Meh Ping or the Meh Nium.

54After continuing for two miles along the crest of the hill, we descended to the Meh Tyen, and halted for the night on its banks in some rice-fields near the junction of one of its branches. Our camp was situated 131 miles from Hlineboay, and 2831 feet above the sea.

The bed of the Meh Tyen is 20 feet wide and 6 feet deep, and is composed of boulders of quartz and granite.

The following morning at six o’clock the thermometer stood at 36½°. The breeze as we ascended a spur, through the hill-eng and scanty pine-forest, to Bau Koke, chilled us to the bone. Bau Koke is a small catch-pool on the crest of the Bau plateau, 3400 feet above the sea, draining into the Meh Tyen.

The air every moment became hotter as the sun rose and darted its rays through the clear sky, the soil of the plateau was of a deep red colour, and the glare where the forest had been cleared soon became distressing. Continuing along a ridge bordering the northern edge of the plateau, we reached Bau-gyee at eleven, and halted to inspect the village and for breakfast.

Bau-gyee, as the Burmese call it, or Bau Hluang as it is termed by the Shans—“Hluang” and “gyee” both meaning “great”—is situated 137½ miles from Hlineboay and 3704 feet above sea-level. It is in three divisions—two of 30 houses each, and one of 21 houses. The villagers are Lawas, and gain their livelihood as blacksmiths and miners, procuring and smelting the ore at a hill lying to the north of Loi Pwe, two days’ elephant journey from the village.

The mines are said to average 50 feet in depth, and to be guarded by demons who have to be propitiated by offerings of pigs or fowls. If the ore dug up is poor, the sacrifices are repeated so as to persuade the pee, or demon, to allow it to yield more iron. The ore is smelted at the Lawa village of Oon Pai, situated near the mines. No stranger is allowed 55to watch the process lest the pee should be offended; and the ingots are carried on elephants to the Lawa villages, where it is manufactured into various articles which find a sale throughout the country. The ore mined is the common red oxide of iron.

Whilst breakfast was being prepared we went into the village to have a chat with the people and watch them at their work. The houses are of the ordinary pattern occupied by the Zimmé Shans, built on posts, with the floor raised several feet from the ground, the sides of the building slightly inclining outwards as they rise towards the roof, which is steep and high. Many of the houses are small and dirty, and have pig-pens beneath them.

We found several of the men at work making chains, but they stopped as we appeared. After we had talked with them for a little while, a lad, of about twelve years of age, heated some iron, and seizing a hammer, forged several links of a chain as skilfully and quickly as any man of mature age could have done. An old man showed us several specimens of the ore, but would not allow us to take them away for fear the demons of the mine should be offended.

Their bellows and other implements are curious; the anvil is three inches square and two inches high, formed of a large spike driven into a log of wood. Another implement shaped like a triangular hoe at the top, five inches long and one and a half inch at the base, was likewise spiked into a log of wood, exposing six inches of the spike; this was used for forging hooks and elephant chains.

The bellows, two on each side of the charcoal fire, consisted each of a slightly sloping bamboo four inches in diameter, rising two feet from the ground, with a rag-covered piston working inside it and forcing the air out of a small hole. Each pair was placed three feet apart, and worked by a lad.

There is a dip in the plateau near the village where paddy is grown on a slip of land about two miles long and 150 feet broad. It is irrigated by small springs, the water being led to the fields through bamboo pipes.

PATH FOR A RAILWAY—LAWA SIVAS—LEGENDS OF POO-SA AND YA-SA, AND OF ME-LANG-TA THE LAWA KING—STORY OF A YAK—DESCENT FROM THE BAU PLATEAU—A COURAGEOUS LADY—WEIRD COUNTRY—RUBY-MINES—REACH MUANG HAUT—CABBAGES—TOBACCO-CUTTING—A BOBBERY—FABLE OF THE PEACOCK AND THE CROW—SKETCHING THE COUNTRY—CONVERSING BY SIGNS—INTERVIEWING THE HEAD-MAN—BOAT-HIRE ON THE MEH NAM—COST OF CARRIAGE—RAINFALL—PRODUCE OF FIELDS—A SHAN TEMPLE—METHOD OF MAKING IMAGES—BARGAIN FOR BOATS—TEMPERATURE IN SUN AND SHADE.

Leaving Bau, we continued along the undulating plateau for two and a half miles through the pine-forests, shallow valleys at times commencing on either side. After passing some springs and large white-ant hills, and catching a glimpse of Loi Pah Khow, a great dome-shaped hill ten miles distant to the north, we came to the edge of the plateau, where a great trough or undulation separates it from Loi Kom, the Golden Mountain. Through this pass, which is about 1000 feet lower than the Bau plateau, I consider a railway might be carried from Maing Loongyee to Zimmé.

Loi Kom stands considerably higher than the Bau plateau, or appeared to do so. Looking sideways across the valley, the hill resembles a very long roof sloped at the ends as well as at the sides.

This mountain forms a link in the Zimmé chain of hills, and is the seat of the celebrated Lawa Yak or “genius” Poo-Sa, whose wife Ya-Sa inhabits Loi Soo Tayp, the great hill behind the city of Zimmé.

These genii are said to be the spirits of an ancient Lawa king and queen, who at their deaths became the guardian spirits of the hills. Previous to the advent of Gaudama Buddha to the Lawa country, Poo-Sa and Ya-Sa were devourers of mankind, insisting upon receiving human sacrifices. On his arrival, Gaudama exhorted them to give up this evil practice; since then they are said to be content with buffaloes. The people, however, have doubts on this point, and at times fear that these powerful spirits, who can prevent the water from coursing down the hill-streams to irrigate their fields, have still a hankering after their old diet. The missionaries at Zimmé told me that the previous year the people had petitioned the King of Zimmé to hasten the execution of some malefactors in order to induce Poo-Sa to allow a larger supply of water to flow from the hills, as their fields were suffering from drought.

There is an annual sacrifice of animals to these genii, every house in the region being obliged to pay two annas, or twopence, towards the expenses. The money is kept in the court-house until June, when the sacrifices are made.^[1]

Another legend of the local genii runs as follows: On the Shans’ first entering the Zimmé country, they found the city of La-Maing, which had recently been founded by Me-lang-ta, the king of the Lawas, deserted. At that time the whole of the country to the south of the Burmese Shan States belonged to the Lawas, who resided in the hills in the dry season and cultivated the plains in the rainy season. Overrunning the plains at a time when cultivation was not going on, the Shans occupied La-Maing, the ruins of which adjoin the present city of Zimmé, as well as Lapoon and other similarly deserted Lawa towns.

The Lawa king gathered a great army in the hills to drive the Shans out of his country, but finding them strongly intrenched and in great force, he offered to form an alliance with them if they would cement it by giving him in marriage Nang Sam-ma-tay-we, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of the Shan Prince of Lapoon.

The Shan chief haughtily rejected the offer of the Lawa king, and marched with a great host into the hills, attacked Me-lang-ta, scattered his army, and slew him. The place where he was killed is known as La-wat, “the Lawa destroyed”; and the king became the Pee Hluang, or tutelary deity of the region, and resides in a cave at Loi Kat Pyee, a hill to the north-east of Zimmé. Unlike Poo-Sa and Ya-Sa, he is not a reputed cannibal, but is satisfied with sacrifices of pigs every third year and fowls in the intervening period.

The Yaks of Indo-China are close kin to the giants in our nursery tales, and the Buddhist stories relating to them and other mythical beings would compare well with our own nursery tales. To show what fearful beings they are, I take the following story from ‘Nontuk Pakaranam,’ the 59translation of which appeared in the ‘Siam Repository’ for 1873:—

“Aupata Racha Tirat, a son of royalty, went forth to conquer a kingdom. He had four servants to accompany him. A Yak, taking the form of a beautiful woman, beset his path. She enticed the servants one by one to leave their master, and ate them. She purposed to entrap the royal heir, but failed. She then went on before to the royal city, found favour in the sight of the king, and killed and ate all the people in the palace—ladies, nobility, and the king himself. The people saw the bones, and came together to see whence came all this desolation. The king’s son came forward and told the story how the Yak ate his servants and wished to eat him, but was not allowed. The king had been taken with her beauty, and so lost his life and the lives of all who had died with him. They took Aupata Racha Tirat and made him king.”

The ridge bordering the Bau plateau on the north-east continues at the same level for three miles, gradually turning into a great spur. The path which we descended follows a broad plateau sloping gradually down alongside the north slope of the spur, and bordered by the valley of the Huay Sai, which lies between it and Loi Kom. Descending rapidly for the first fifty feet, with granite outcropping on both sides, we crossed the Huay Pa-lat, a small stream five feet broad and one foot deep, flowing in a granite bed.

60The slope then became easy, but granite masses were still exposed. Continuing through the pine-forest, we crossed two small brooks, the first flowing over a bed of white granite, and the latter dry. The pine and other trees here commenced to be moss-laden, and zi, cotton, and evergreen trees began to appear in the forest. Reaching Pang Eemoon, a swampy shallow valley, we halted for the night. Our camp, 142 miles from Hlineboay, lay 2685 feet above sea-level. The temperature at 5 P.M. was 78°, and at 6 A.M. 45½°, or considerably higher than on the other side of the table-land. Near the camp are the ruins of an old pagoda, and a small stream flowing over a tough rock, which is used by the people for making hones to sharpen their knives and weapons. Still following the sloping plateau, I noticed that pine ceased to be seen in the forest at the point, a mile from the camp, where the plateau commences to throw off spurs on either side, and a steep descent amongst outcrops of granite and boulders begins. The top of the descent lies 2545 feet above the sea.

Small valleys gradually formed and deepened on either side of us as we descended slowly, halting at times for caravans of laden cattle to pass us. After crossing a torrent 40 feet broad and 3 feet deep, flowing from the great spur on the north, we camped for breakfast on the bank of the Meh Pa-pai, at the corner of the elbow-bend where it turns east. At our crossing, 145½ miles from Hlineboay and 1672 feet above the sea, this stream flows in a solid bed of granite, 82 feet broad, with banks 6 feet high.

When halting at this spot with Dr Cushing, his wife had a narrow escape. During the heat of the day she was startled from sleep by feeling something crawling over her. She at once suspected that it was a snake, and had the courage and presence of mind to remain perfectly still while it crawled up her arm, and over her face, and away from her temple. Then, unable to restrain herself longer, she jumped up and screamed as she watched the large spotted viper disappearing in the grass.

After breakfast we followed along the flat slopes on the 61side of the stream—the crests of the undulations of the rolling plain we had descended to being at times 50 and 60 feet above us, and small hills occasionally jutted in from both sides. In places where, in order to cut the bends of the stream, we crossed the undulating plateau, which was evidently part of an old lake-bottom, the elephants had worn the path down as deep as themselves, exposing the earth formation, which is mixed with small rounded gravel.

The country was weird in the extreme, the grass parched up; the trees, the bamboos, and even the great creepers strangling the trees, leafless; and the stream looking like burnished steel in its lavender-coloured granite bed. There was a dead stillness about the scene; the orange-red flowers of the pouk trees seemed to flame out of the forest.

After following the stream for five miles, we left it flowing to our right, and proceeding over the undulating ground, crossed a low hillock lying between it and the Huay Sai, a stream 30 feet broad and 5 feet deep. Crossing this stream, we entered the ruby-mine district. The ground as far as the Huay Bau Kyow is covered with sharp fragments of quartz, sandstone, and granite, which have been broken by people in search of the gems. Many of great value are said to have been found here. The workings have been merely on the surface and in the banks of the stream; if scientifically worked, the mines might prove very valuable.

Beyond the Huay Bau Kyow—“the stream of the ruby-mines”—we entered the rice-fields of Muang Haut, and crossing the Meh Haut, 60 feet wide and 5 feet deep, were cheered by the sight of trees once more in leaf. The bright red flowers of Pin-leh-Ka-thyt, the tree under which the Devas dance in Indra’s heaven until intoxicated with pleasure, now flamed in rivalry of the pouk, and the banks of the Meh Ping were fringed with orchards and noble clumps of graceful, plume-like bamboos. Passing through the fields, which are bounded on the west by five little knolls, each crested by a pagoda, we skirted the monastery, temple, and pagoda at the entrance of the town, and passing 62through it, halted for the night at a fine sala, or rest-house, built near the bank of the river.

Muang Haut lies 154 miles from Hlineboay, and 743 feet above the sea. The river opposite the sala was 600 feet broad, the water 3 feet deep, and the banks 12 feet high.

After we had been thoroughly inspected by all the loafers about the place, who had luckily had the edge of their appetite taken off by the Bombay Burmah party, which had only left on the previous day, we were able to stroll about whilst dinner was being got ready. Seeing some fine cabbages in a Chinaman’s garden near our sala, we stopped to bargain for some. Imagine our surprise when he would not part with them under a rupee each. Expostulation was in vain—one of the gentlemen who had left the day before had paid him that price for one; that was the value, and no less would be taken for one. Cabbage-growing in the Shan States must be a lucrative business. In the gardens about the town I noticed cocoa-nut and Palmyra palms, custard-apple, guava, orange, citron, pummelo, plantains, and mango trees and sugar-cane, tobacco, turmeric, chillies, onions, pumpkins, and other ordinary plants seen in gardens. A woman was cutting up green tobacco-leaves for use by forcing them through a hole in a plank at the end of a small table, and slicing the leaves at the other side of the orifice.

On returning to the sala, Ramasawmy, Dr Cushing’s servant, came to interview him, and raised a bobbery. He was indignant. In the course of conversation with my boys, he had found out that each of them was receiving five rupees a month more wages than he had bargained for. Here was fat in the fire. It was shameful; he would not be treated so; he would leave that moment and return to Maulmain. It was useless Dr Cushing’s remarking that my boys were not in the same position as his boy, being only hired for the journey, whilst he had been with him for years, and had accompanied him on former journeys at the same wages. It was unjust. He would not stand it. He had told Portow and Loogalay, and they had laughed at him. 63He would not stop. He would go at once. Blubbering with passion, he proceeded to pack up his pah, sleeping-mat, and blanket, and would have left the sala with them if Dr Cushing, who remained as cool as a cucumber, had not told Portow and Shway Wai to prevent him from moving the things, and despatched a note to the head-man asking that the boy might not be allowed to leave the village with the elephant-men whom I had just paid off. The boy was bound to give him a month’s notice before leaving, and he must do what he was bound to do. The storm was merely a passing gust of temper, and Ramasawmy was at work again the next day as cheery as a lark and as brisk as a sparrow.

We were pleased to see our old acquaintances the sparrows and crows again. These birds are only seen in the neighbourhood of large villages and towns, where people most do congregate. I cannot better depict the strong sense of humour existing amongst the Shans than by relating their fable of the peacock and the crow, which runs as follows:—

In days of yore when time was young, and birds conversed as well as sung, the peacock and the crow were both grey birds. One day, at the suggestion of the peacock, they mutually agreed each to do its utmost to improve the personal appearance of the other. The crow, taking a paintbrush, some fine feathers, and beautiful colours, in an artistic manner performed his part of the bargain. Then handing the brush to the peacock, who was admiring himself in a placid pool, asked that bird to decorate him. The peacock, excited with admiration and conceit at his splendid appearance, for a long time turned a deaf ear to the remonstrances and pleadings of the crow. At length, taking the brush, he laid on the crow a layer of black as a ground-work for the other colours. Then strutting off to the pool he had another look at himself. Returning, he shrieked with laughter at the contrast, and dancing round the crow, displaying his 64lovely plumage, assured the justly incensed bird that he was such fun, he could not think of spoiling his appearance by further use of the brush.

Before dinner I clambered up the southern hillock at the back of the town, and sketched the country from the base of a pagoda. To the south, fourteen miles distant, appeared Loi Kern, the northern flank of the great bulwark of hills and table-land through which the Meh Ping tears its way in stupendous gorges to the plains of Siam. One of its eastern peaks is crested by a pagoda of much sanctity, to which pilgrims from all parts gather. Between us and Loi Kern lay a great forest-clad plain, with short spurs jutting into it from the Bau plateau. The narrow rice-plain of Muang Haut could be seen winding like a large river through the forest. Turning to the west, Loi Kom loomed above the spurs, and between it and Loi Kern stretched Loi Pang Ma, the eastern flank of the Bau plateau. The pagoda on the hillock to the north and west of the one that I was sketching from is called Tat Oo-kyow, or the pagoda of the gemmed offering-box. Another pagoda cresting a neighbouring peak at the end of a spur is named Tat Loi Som.

65In the evening I was amused by watching Veyloo and Jewan having a long conversation with a Zimmé Shan about the prices of things in that place. Every day they had learned a few words and sentences of Shan from Portow, and now, with the aid of expressive signs and gestures, were prepared to do battle with the stall-keepers in the bazaars.

The next morning we sent for the head-man of the town to arrange for a fresh supply of elephants to take us to Zimmé, and to obtain what information we could from him. He came followed by several of the villagers, and ascending the stairs, crouched shekoing on the threshold. On our asking him to approach to our temporary table, he came half crawling and half hopping in on his hands and feet like a huge toad. This is the ordinary mode of courtesy shown by an inferior to a superior in the Shan States and Siam. Not only the common people and village head-men use this form of ceremony, but a prince visiting another of higher social rank either prostrates himself on the ground, or squats down, places the palms of his hands together, and raises them up to his face.

He said elephants were not procurable in the neighbourhood of Muang Haut, and to procure boats to convey us and our things to Zimmé might take him two or three days. The ordinary hire for an elephant from Zimmé to Muang Haut was 30 rupees. The hire of a boat, including a steersman and three polers, from Muang Haut to Zimmé was 60 rupees, and two boats would be required for our party.

66The wages of each boatman to Bangkok varied between 70 and 80 rupees; to Raheng, from 24 to 25 rupees; to Paknam Po, 30 rupees; and to Zimmé, 15 rupees. The time taken by a boat in going to Bangkok averaged fifteen days in the rains, and thirty days in the dry season. From Bangkok to Muang Haut took forty-five days in the rains, and two months in the dry season. From Zimmé to Muang Haut took two days in the rains, and from four to five in the dry season. From Muang Haut to Zimmé, six days in the dry season; in the rains the journey was always done by elephant.

A caravan-man conducting eight to ten laden bullocks from Zimmé to Muang Haut and back received 10 rupees with food, or 15 rupees without food, the journey there taking him eight days. From Zimmé to Maulmain and back he got 20 rupees with food, or 30 rupees without food, the journey there taking thirty days. A good bullock carries 40 viss; a small one, 30 viss: no load is ever placed on a cow.

A porter carrying 20 viss—66⅔ lb.—receives 2 rupees a viss going to Maulmain, and the same returning to Zimmé, or at the rate of Rs. 1344 a ton carried either way. The journey for a quick travelling porter from Zimmé to Maulmain takes fifteen days, and the same back.

The rainfall at Muang Haut and Zimmé was less than at Maing Loongyee. Sometimes for a whole month in the rains it only drizzled now and then. The previous year the crops on the higher ground had suffered through deficient rainfall. The rice-fields yielded a hundred-fold on the best land, and from fifty-fold upwards on the poorest. The town contained fifty houses; its inhabitants were traders and cultivators, chiefly the former.

Having pumped the head-man dry, we wandered through the town and inspected the religious buildings. The temple was a fine building 54 feet long, varying in breadth from 17 feet at the porch, 21 feet at the two ends, to 24 feet in the central portion. The roofs were in two tiers, leaving a space of 2 or 3 feet between the tiers. The roof of the centre portion rose higher than that of each end, and the 67roof of the porch was lower. Leading up to the porch was a plastered brick staircase. The floor and walls were likewise of plastered brickwork, and stopped some distance from the roof, which was supported by teak posts, those on the outside being built into the wall. In the centre portion, and the end next the porch, wooden gratings were let into the walls to aid in lighting the buildings. The interior posts which supported the upper tiers of the central portion were painted black, with an ornamental band of gilding 4½ feet from the ground. The two posts in the chancel were painted red, with a similar gilded band at the same height from the ground. Inside the chancel was a sitting image of Gaudama 10 feet high, and six others 4 feet high, besides a dozen smaller ones.

When at Maing Longyee some large images were being made, and in my walks I watched the process from day to day. A core of clay is first accurately carved into the required shape. It is then plastered over with a layer of cloth. Over this is spread a thick coating of thyt-si varnish mixed with sawdust. Other coatings are then added until the required stiffness is acquired. The casting is then removed from the core by slitting it up along the sides. It is then carried to the temple and erected on the pedestal that has been prepared for it. The halves being placed together, other coatings are applied which cause the halves to adhere. The whole is then perfected with a layer of gold-leaf. Some of the larger idols are made of bricks plastered over, others of stone, and some of bronze.

Under a shed in the temple grounds were several musical instruments—amongst them two large tapering drums, one 2 feet 9 inches long, 11 inches in diameter at the larger head, and 9 inches in diameter at the smaller head. The other drum was of the same size, but had only a single head; its tapered end was fixed in a hollowed-out pedestal of padouk wood, which was so resonant as to be nearly a drum in itself.

After visiting the abbot, who had a few novices with him in the monastery, and trying to bargain with him for some of his palm-leaf documents, we returned to the sala. On 68our way back we noticed two boats discharging their cargoes of rice, and at once hired them for our journey to Zimmé. They were flat-bottomed, and each about 40 feet long. When all the luggage and men were on board, we had only space enough to sit in a cramped position on a mat, the mat roof nearly touching our heads.

At 6 A.M. the temperature was 54° in the shade; at 2 P.M., 89° in the shade, and 118° in the sun; at 3 P.M., 92° in the shade; and at 8 P.M., 77° in the shade.

LEAVE MUANG HAUT—LEGEND OF THE RAPIDS—FOOTPRINTS OF BUDDHA—POWER OF ACCUMULATED MERIT—INDRA’S HEAVEN—RIVER SCENERY—FISHING-DAMS—LOI PAH KHOW—LARGE FISH—NAKED BOATMEN—A PLEASANT RETREAT—WARS BETWEEN THE BURMESE AND SHANS—A SUGAR-PRESS—SILVER-MINES—PATH FOR THE RAILWAY—WATER-WHEELS—THE TIGER-HEAD MOUNTAIN—PLEASANT MORNINGS—A RIVER SCENE—CHANTING PRAYERS—THE VALLEY OF THE MEH LI—COUNTRY-HOUSE OF THE CHIEF OF LAPOON—VIANG HTAU—VISIT TO A MONASTERY.

Having loaded the boats, we started from Muang Haut a little after 8 A.M. on the 20th of February for Zimmé. After passing through the fishing-dam at the north of the island which stretches for half a mile above the town, we turned a bend, and at the end of the next loop reached Pa-kin-soo, a celebrated sand-cliff which stands up like an old sandstone castle with towers and buttresses weatherworn and crumbling into ruins.

The legend attached to this cliff has given rise to the names of the rapids in the gorges below Muang Haut, and runs as follows: In ancient days a Shan princess of Viang Soo or Kiang Soo, being crossed in love by her parents refusing their consent to her marriage with a nobleman of a hostile State, determined to levant with her lover. Accordingly, one moonlight night she mounted behind him on a pony and went galloping away towards his home. When nearing the river they heard her father with his followers clattering and clammering behind them. Reaching the 70bank, they found themselves on the crest of the cliff, with the river a sheer drop of 120 feet below. Her father being nearly at their heels, they had no time to dodge to the right hand or to the left; they must take the leap or be caught. The lover, eager for the safety of the princess, hesitated for a moment, when his ladylove, nothing daunted, sprang in front of him, struck the pony and forced it to the leap. From that time they lived only in story, and the places where their bodies, pony, whip, saddle, harness, and other equipment were stranded, were named accordingly.

Proceeding two and a half miles farther, we halted for breakfast near a pagoda and visited the Phra Bat, a footprint of Gaudama, which is situated a quarter of a mile from the west bank of the river. The footprint is 5 feet 4½ inches long, and 2 feet broad, and is impressed on a huge granite boulder, and decorated in the usual manner. Although a place of pilgrimage, no monastery is attached to it, and the temple in which the Phra Bat lies is becoming a ruin. To account for the supernatural size of the footprints, which are found of various dimensions throughout the country, we must remember that virtuous men, the possessors of accumulated merit, have intellectual properties which, besides virtue (dharma), knowledge, calm self-control, include supernatural power (aiswarya), which enables its possessor to make his way into a solid rock, to sail to the sun on a sunbeam, touch the moon with the tip of his finger, expand so as to occupy all space, and swim, dive, or float upon the earth as readily as in water. Through merit, in fact, the intellect (Buddha) attains the “absolute subjugation of Nature,” so that “whatever the will proposes, that it obtains.” But merit, however vast the stock, is consumed like fuel: thus even those in Indra’s heaven who “drink their fill of joys divine,” fall again to earth after their accumulated stock of merit is spent, and have to continue their series of births and deaths until they are purified from desire, when they obtain Neiban, become as the winds are, or as if they had never been born.

Opposite our halting-place we noticed tobacco-gardens 71belonging to a village invisible amongst the dense foliage. Our morning’s journey had been delightful; the long bends of the river, and the slow movement of the boat as it was poled up-stream, rendered surveying a pastime after the continuous turns and twists, with the accompanying frequent observations, incurred on our land march—the more so after the pitching, rolling, and jolting I had undergone on the elephants.

It was most refreshing, after the leafless forest about Muang Haut, to see the magnificent foliage skirting the river. Large bamboos in bunch-like clumps, not the impenetrable thickets we had previously met; the lights and shades on the golden greens of their delicately coloured plumes; and the deep recesses between the clumps, in whose stately presence the scrub-jungle disappears; the cooing of doves; the gaily decked kingfisher watching for its opportunity to plunge on its prey; the lep-pan (silk-cotton trees) 120 feet high, with pegs driven into the trunks to serve as ladders for the cotton-pickers, their white trunks and bare horizontal branches looking like shipping with yards up as we rounded the bends; the flower of the pouk flaming out at intervals; low islands covered with scrub willows, whose leaves glistened in the sun; the mist driving along the face of the water, ascending in little twirls and vanishing; the bell-music of passing caravans; the plaintive cry of the gibbons; the oo-kee-or calling its own name; and little grey and buff-coloured squirrels springing about the trees,—all added a charm to the scene. Even without an Eve, one felt inclined to express one’s pleasure in Adam’s words:—

The silk-cotton of the lep-pan tree is too short and brittle to be made into yarn or cloth; the soft downy cotton is therefore solely used for stuffing cushions, pillows, and beds.

Resuming our journey, we passed Ta Nong Hluang—the 72Ferry of the great Fishery or Lake—where several fishing-stake dams stretched across the river and had to be opened to allow our boats to pass. Some distant hills were now visible to the east, and occasional hillocks were seen in the same direction. A little beyond the 164th mile the Meh Kom, or Golden River, entered. The Meh Kom drains the gully in the hills to the north of Loi Kom. As we proceeded, the banks to the east were occasionally perpendicular bluffs of soil, sand, and gravel, remains of the old lake-bottom not yet washed away by the movements of the river. We halted for the night at Ban Hsope Kyem, a small village at the mouth of the Meh Kyem, which enters from the west after draining the hills in the vicinity of Loi Pah Khow—the Mountain of the White Cloud—so called from its head generally being enshrouded in mist. Our camp for the night was 167 miles from Hlineboay, and was bounded on the west by beautiful and grand hill scenery.

73Loi Pah Khow, the great dome-shaped hill which we had seen a little to the east of north soon after leaving Bau Hluang, now lay west-north-west 15 miles distant; and the intervening country to the south-west, to within five miles from the river, had the character of a plateau riven by great chasms or defiles through which the drainage passes. To the north-west the country was more broken up, some of the hills presenting evidence of past subsidence in the precipices which were visible on their slopes and faces. Loi Pah Khow dominates the Zimmé range of hills, and appears to rise to 8000 or perhaps 10,000 feet above sea-level.

The next morning we left at seven. The stream has worn its way not only through the old lake-bottom, but into the sandstone and laterite sub-surface, as these rocks are frequently exposed in the banks. After passing two small villages and through a reach bordered by Loi Kai Khee-a on the west and a sandstone cliff 50 feet high on the east, we halted for breakfast at the village of Ban Peh, where many men were fishing with nets in the river. Our boys purchased an excellent fish, 10 lb. in weight, and several smaller ones, for tenpence, which were a pleasant addition to our meal.

Our boatmen, in deference to us, wore white cotton jackets with short sleeves, and a handkerchief tied round their loins extending only half-way to their knees. Many of the men in boats on the river had not even this pretence at decency, but were as naked as Adam before the Fall. The river being shallow in places, the men were in and out of the water frequently to lug the boats over the shoals; and I presume this partly accounted for their primitive habits.

After breakfast we started again, and passing the Ta Pa, or “rock-ferry,” named from the conglomerate and sandstone formation that outcrop in the banks, we reached Ban Meh Soi, in which was situated the first monastery we had seen since leaving Muang Haut. Over the water was a neat thatched-roofed building 12 feet long and 9 feet broad, with wooden posts, the sides planked for 3 feet in height, and a bamboo floor raised 3 or 4 feet above the top of the bank, with which it was connected by a foot-bridge. This little summer-house had been built for the use of the Phra, or 74abbot, when repeating at the time of full and new moon the ritual appointed for cleansing himself from his sins.

From the village we saw the high plateau or great table-topped hill from which Loi Hsope Kang springs; the crest, which extended for some miles, was peakless and as flat as a board. Two miles farther we passed two islands situated in a deep reach of the river called Wung Hoo-a Kwai, “the pool of the buffalo’s head.” Thence for five miles to the place where we halted for the night there was not a vestige of a habitation or a garden seen from the river. If there were any in the vicinity, they were effectually screened by the fringes of bamboos which lined the banks.

Leaving early the next morning, we noticed a low range of hills four miles to the south-east, and soon afterwards passed the end of a low, straight, and level spur from this range looking like a great embankment, and known as Loi Ta Khan Lai, “the hill of the passage of the hundred steps.” Two miles farther, we reached Ban Nong Long, “the village of the lake of monk’s coffin.” This village formed the refuge of Phya Cha Ban, the chief of Zimmé, when he fled from the Burmese in 1777.

From Ban Nong Long northwards the country becomes more populous. After passing the mouth of the Meh Kang, where a large caravan of laden Shans was crossing the river, we halted at a suburb of Wung Pan for breakfast. Here we noticed a simple press for extracting sugar from the sugar-cane. It was driven by a buffalo yoked to a long bamboo lever, which worked a central wooden shaft, which had part of its length cogged, and its lower portion smooth but notched with grooves. The cogs worked into two similar cogged shafts. The three shafts fitted into an upright frame, thus completing the press. The syrup is boiled in pans 2 feet 9 inches broad and 6 inches deep, set in holes on inclined ground, fuel being fed under them through short tunnels, and the flues consist of shorter ones with their exit up-hill. The buffalo being scared by the sight of two invaders of his country, had to be replaced by two men, a woman, and a boy whilst I sketched the machine.

75Leaving Wung Pan, we proceeded through several straggling villages and reached the southern mouth of the Meh Li, which enters from the east.

The Meh Li flows from the south through a very picturesque and well-wooded country. Near its source, not far from the silver-mines, is a gorge or gap in the hills leading into the valley of the Meh Phit. Through this gorge a branch railway might be constructed to connect Raheng with Lapoon and Zimmé. The branch might be continued from Zimmé past Muang Ken and Kiang Dow viâ the Meh Pam into the valley of the Meh Fang, whence it could be carried across the Meh Khoke through Muang Ngam into the Meh Chun valley, where it would again join the main line in the plain of Kiang Hsen. The best caravan-route between Raheng and Zimmé passes through the gap.

Nearly opposite the mouth of the Meh Li is a fine monastery called Wat Ta Sala, after the sala, “traveller’s rest-house,” that has been erected a little higher up the river, and a little beyond, at the village of Fang Min, we passed three large spider undershot water-wheels.

The axle or boss of each wheel was of hard wood, about 3 feet long and 5 inches in diameter. From this radiated two rows, about 2 feet apart, of spokes from 10 to 12 feet long. The two rows were joined together at the top by paddles made of bamboo matting, 2 feet broad by 1 foot deep. The spokes, each formed of one-third of a split bamboo, were connected together at the periphery of the wheel by a light lattice-work formed of strips of bamboo, on the under side of which were fastened joints of bamboo about 1 foot long to serve as buckets to bring up the water. The lower part of the wheel was immersed for 3 feet in the current, and the water was emptied into a trough near the top, from whence it was conveyed to the gardens and fields. The boss of the wheel worked upon two light trestles made of wood. The wheel was so light that it required little current to set it in motion. I passed 220 of these spider-web wheels between Ta Sala and Zimmé. Similar water-wheels are found in the Chinese provinces of 76Kweichau and Ssuchuan, as well as in Upper Burmah and the Shan States. They are used for pounding and grinding rice as well as for irrigation, and lifting water for household purposes. It is a singular spectacle to watch several of these wheels, placed within a few feet of each other, in ceaseless motion, their shafts humming loudly, and the water splashing and sparkling all over them.

Just above Fang Min, between it and the monastery of Ban Dong, which lies on the east of the river, favoured by a long stretch of the river which enabled me to see over the tops of the trees lining the banks, I caught sight of the Loi Hoo-a Soo-a, “the mountain of the tiger’s head,” so called from the aspect of a precipice on its western extremity. Beyond it, twenty miles distant to the north-west, lay Loi Pah Kung, an undulating hill or plateau of great height, a monarch among the mountains, forming part of the main range of the Zimmé hills.

After passing three villages and another fine monastery, we reached the northern mouth of the Meh Li and halted for the night. The banks in the neighbourhood are very low, frequently not more than five and a half feet in height, and must at times be subject to inundation.

The early morning is the most enjoyable part of the day in the Shan States, and is delightful during a boat-journey. As the sun pours its rays through the trees, a flood of light is shed upon the thickets on the opposite bank of the river, displaying, amongst glistening dewdrops, a wonderful variety of beautiful hues and colours. The birds are singing their morning orisons; the doves are cooing from the tall cotton trees, which are shedding showers of scarlet lily-shaped blossoms; the jungle-fowl crowing from their bamboo fastnesses; blue jays flop along from tree to tree, croaking as they fly; gaudy woodpeckers tap at the old tree-trunks in search of their morning’s meal; divers, springing from the water, speed for a few yards and dart in again; snipe, plover, and snippets are strutting on the sandbanks, and kingfishers flash in the sunlight like living gems. The whole scene teems with music, life, and light. The breeze rustling in the tree-tops, the deliciously cold morning air bathing 77one’s face, and the universal enjoyment around us, wafts care away, renews our youth for the time, and we enjoy the pleasures of paradise.

Starting soon after six, we passed through Loi Law, a village which nestles in gardens of graceful palms and fruit-trees, and lines both sides of the river. The air was scented with the fragrance of orange and pummelo blossoms; bells tolled by the breeze tinkled from the pagoda, and the sound of children’s voices, joined with the deeper tones of men chanting their morning’s devotions, were wafted to us from the monastery. Girls tripped gaily along the banks with their water-jars balanced on their heads; children who could barely walk dragged great buffaloes along by their nose-rings; pariah dogs barked at us; and the impudent crows scolded us from the banks for breaking into the harmony of the scene.

78Ten minutes after leaving the village, I halted to sketch Loi Hoo-a Soo-a and Loi Pah Kung; and a mile farther on ascended Loi Noi, a small granite knoll on the west bank that is crested by a pagoda, in order to settle the position and make a drawing of the hills in the valley of the Meh Li. Between us and Loi Ta Mau and Loi Chang Moo, “the mountain of the crouching elephant,” so called from its appearance, the whole plain for a distance of thirty miles appeared to be one great forest with a few small isolated hills cropping up here and there, the area under cultivation being entirely hidden by dense fringes of trees. The Zimmé plain is at its broadest at Loi Noi, and feathers off thence to both ends. Its total length from the gorge beyond the Meh Teng to Loi Chang Moo is seventy miles.

Leaving Loi Noi, we passed, on the east bank, the country-house of the Chow Hluang, or chief, of Lapoon, near which a landing-stage of bamboos and a flight of steps had been erected for the use of the chief. Two miles farther we passed Ban Ta Pee, the village to which lepers are banished. The bamboo clumps fringing the river now became more scarce, and were replaced by fruit-trees and tobacco and other gardens.

Hsong Kweh, or Htone Htau, the village where we breakfasted, is on the site of the ancient city of Viang Htau. On visiting the religious buildings, which consisted of a pagoda, two temples, and a monastery, I picked up a fragment of an ancient tile, on which were raised three figures—the first a man clothed in a flowing raiment, then an unclad man with a ring or fetter on each ankle, followed by a naked woman with a bracelet or fetter upon each wrist. The portion of the tile containing the heads of the figures had been broken off and lost. The smaller temple had a handsome staircase, the sides of which were formed of twisted snakes and dragons adorned with scales of gold and green tinsel. The plaster scroll-work which embellished the doorway was admirably designed and of excellent cement. Both Burmese and Shans have developed a great talent for architecture and ornamental tracery.

79The old monk and his acolytes were evidently pleased at our visit, and had no objection to being photographed. I therefore took two excellent groups, which unfortunately came to nothing, as the plates were blotched, like all the others I had wasted my time in using. Before reaching the monastery, a party of young men and women forded the river in front of our boat, laughing at each other’s endeavour to join decency with the attempt to keep their garments from the water, which was nearly waist-deep—a nearly impossible feat.

DESCRIPTION OF SHAN HOUSES—CABALISTIC CHARMS—SUPERSTITION—ANCESTRAL AND DEMON WORSHIP—SHAN DYNASTIES IN BURMAH—ZIMMÉ UNDER THE BURMESE—RULES FOR HOUSE-BUILDING—POSSESSING A GHOUL—THE SHADOW SPIRIT—KISSING WITH THE NOSE—FURNITURE—MEALS—CHINESE CHOP-STICKS—SPINSTERS—WEAVING AND EMBROIDERY—DYES—CHINESE HONGS—FISHING—REVOLT AGAINST BURMAH—ZIMMÉ AND LAPOON DESERTED—A REST-HOUSE—SHAN DIALECTS—ENTRANCE OF THE MEH HKUANG—MUSICAL WATER-WHEELS—BRICK AND TILE WORKS—HOUSES FOR THE DEMONS—HOUSES IMBEDDED IN GARDENS—LIGHT-COLOURED BUFFALOES—MY FIRST HUNT IN BURMAH—A FINE PAGODA—APPROACH TO THE CITY—ARRIVE AT ZIMMÉ—AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN MISSIONS IN SIAM AND ZIMMÉ.

The houses in the Shan villages along the river-banks are situated in orchards of fine fruit-trees, separated from each other by palisades. The people, like the Burmese, are very fond of flowers, and rear them in their gardens, and in wooden boxes and earthenware pots placed on the balustrade of their verandahs. Young children encircle the top-knot on the head with orchids and sweet-smelling flowers. Girls wear roses, magnolias, bauhinias, jessamine, and orchids in their hair; and net flowers, seeds, and buds into fragrant and beautiful hanging ornaments of various designs. Young men are seen with flowers in the holes in their ear-lobes, which likewise serve as holders for their half-smoked cheroots. Even coolies at work in the fields have flowers in their ears to regale themselves at intervals.

The houses of the peasantry are generally built solely of bamboo, with roofs thatched with grass or the leaves of teak and eng trees. The walls are roughly constructed of bamboo 81matting; and bamboos slit open and spread out by gashing them on the inner side form floor planks a foot and more in width. Not a nail is used in the structure; slips of bamboo twisted into string form the only fastenings when cane is not procurable. In a country where fires are frequent, and bamboos spring up like grass, these houses are eminently adapted to the requirements of the people, as they are cheaply constructed and can easily be replaced.

Passing through the gateway in the bamboo palisading, you enter the garden where the house stands with its floor raised six or eight feet from the ground. Under the house is a space where elephant howdahs, gardening implements, and materials are kept, and where cattle can be tethered for the night. Ascending the steps, you reach a platform or verandah, which is usually partly or wholly roofed. The houses are invariably built with the gable-ends facing north and south; the verandah being generally at the southern extremity.

The east side of the verandah has a wall continuous with that of the house. Along this wall is a shelf on which are placed offerings of flowers for Buddha and for the beneficent spirits. On the western side of the verandah stands a covered settle for the earthen water-pots, which hold water for drinking and cooking purposes. The outer posts of this verandah, when only partially covered in, rise high enough to support the balustrade, on which pot-herbs, onions, chillies, garlic, flowers, and orchids are grown for family use.

The floor of the uncovered portion of the verandah serves in the daytime as a drying-place for betel-nuts and fruit, and at night, after the heat of the day, furnishes a resort for a quiet lounge under the fast cooling sky. If the family is religiously disposed, it is to the verandah that the monks are invited to conduct a merit-making service for the prosperity and health of the household; and it is to the verandah that witch-finders, medicine-men, and sorcerers, as well as monks, are received to render their services for a small consideration in cases of sickness.

Look on the tops of the house-posts, under the rafters, and you will find cabalistic charms inscribed on fragments of 82cloth, which have been placed there to prevent the intrusion of malignant spirits who bring calamity, disease, and death.

The belief in the spirits of the earth, found in all the dark corners of the world, and at one time nearly universal, fetters its victims with the bonds of superstition. Superstition saps all manliness from them, makes them live in constant dread of their surroundings, and consider themselves akin in soul to spirits inhabiting the lower grades of creation and the vegetable and mineral kingdom.

The spirits in the unseen world, although considered to have previously inhabited human forms, according to the people are as malicious as monkeys, and can only be kept in good humour by constant coaxing. The very best—the spirits of their ancestors, and the spirits of deceased monks, the teachers of their youth—will certainly take vengeance if provoked by neglect.

Knowing that Shan dynasties reigned in Upper Burmah from A.D. 1298 to 1554, and in Lower Burmah from A.D. 1287 to 1540, and again from 1740 to 1746; that the people of Zimmé were tributary to, and at times directly ruled by Burmah, between A.D. 1558 and 1774; and that Talaings, the people of Lower Burmah, flocked to Zimmé and Siam, and settled there in the latter half of last century and in the first half of this century,—it is not surprising to find that many superstitions held by the Talaings and Burmese are common to the people of Zimmé. Thus the instructions given in the Burmese Dehttohn upon house-building, and choosing the site and materials, and also as to the lucky day for the commencement of the house, are generally applicable to Zimmé as well as to Burmah. Superstition takes under its guidance almost every detail; and when the house is completed, it still directs as to the day and the manner of moving in to take possession, and even as to the direction the people are to repose in at night. No door or windows are allowed in the eastern wall, and the family sleep with their heads to the east.

The flooring of the house is supported by posts forked at the top to carry the floor beams on which rest the bamboo 83joints for supporting the planking. The walls and roof of the house are supported by other posts let two feet into the ground, and reaching to the wall-plates or to the ridge of the house, according to their position. A peculiar feature in most of the Zimmé houses is the general practice of inclining the walls slightly outwards from the floor to the roof.

The posts of the walls are arranged in sets of threes, fives, sevens, &c., as odd numbers bring luck. The spaces between each set of posts have specific names. The door of the house and the verandah or platform in front of it are almost always at the south end. The post that is occupied by the spirits, “Pee,” is on the east side next to the corner post nearest the door. The guardian spirits of the house are supposed to occupy the portion of this post above the floor, and malignant or evil spirits the portion below it.

The Pee Hpōng, or ghoul spirit, who resides in the lower region of the earth, possesses people in the following manner: A person in communion with this spirit rises quietly from sleep at night, and stealing down-stairs, tips his (or her) nose thrice against the spirit post. This action makes the face lustrous, and by its light, as by a lamp, the possessed person seeks the vile food that he craves. When satisfied, he re-tips his nose, the ghoul vanishes, and he returns to bed. The ghoul, I presume, is inhaled when first tipping the nose, and exhaled when re-tipping it. Kissing amongst the Shans and Burmese is performed by inhaling through the nose, and not as with us through the lips. Another spirit rising from the centre of the earth is Phya Ma-choo Lat, the shadow spirit, that renders people prematurely careworn and old.

The house has its floor raised a few inches above that of the verandah, and the interior is divided into one, two, or more apartments, according to its size and the wants of its owner. The furniture of the houses is very simple. Mats and cushions are piled in a corner ready for use; the handsomest cushions being triangular in section and embroidered at each end. Simple mats made of fine strips of bamboos or of a species of rush, often worked into patterns, serve as mattresses in summer, and are replaced by home-made cotton 84mattresses in the colder months. The mattress is rolled up during the day, and placed on the floor at night, and over it is suspended a thick cotton mosquito-curtain, through which one would think it scarcely possible to breathe. Curtains made of book muslin would be much more conducive to health, and would be equally serviceable, as they would keep out the sand-flies as well as the mosquitoes, which an ordinary mosquito-net does not do, as I found out before I had been many days in Burmah.

The fireplace consists of a wooden frame about four feet square and six inches deep, filled with earth or sand. On this is placed a light iron tripod, or what equally serves the purpose, three pieces of brick or stone to rest the pot on when the fire is kindled. In the dry season cooking is carried on in the garden, but in the rains in a compartment of the house, the smoke finding its way out through the door, windows, interstices in the mat walls, and through the roof. The utensils consist, besides the water-jars, of a few pots, pans, baskets made waterproof by coatings of thyt-si or wood-oil to serve as buckets, dippers to scoop the water from the jars made of half a cocoa-nut shell fitted with a carved wooden handle, spoons, and a few china bowls.

At meal-times, which occur about seven in the morning and towards sunset, the table, about a foot and a half in diameter and six inches high, is taken down from a shelf and placed on the floor, and by its side is put the tall slender basket of steamed glutinous rice. A lacquer or brass tray holding little bowls of fish, pork, beef, bamboo-shoots, vegetables, and curry, all cut up fine before being put in the pot, and fruit, or perhaps only a bowl of curry, a dish of pickled or dried fish, vegetables and some fruit, are then laid on the table. After the family circle has gathered round, the steamed rice is served separately to each person in a small basket. The members squatting like tailors round the tray in a circle, take up the rice in lumps with their fingers, and dip it into the common bowl of curry, and pick out tit-bits from the other bowls as it suits their fancy. When soup or gravy is served, a common spoon is used; each takes a spoonful and then passes the spoon to his neighbour. After 85meals it is customary to wash your own bowl, as well as your mouth and fingers.

Whatever one may think of the habit of eating with one’s fingers, it is much more seemly than the Chinese custom of feeding with chop-sticks. It is simply disgusting to watch a Chinaman shovelling in his food, and attempting to convey it neatly to his mouth, with these curious and most unsuitable implements.

87As in olden time in England, so now in the Shan States, every unmarried woman is a spinster, and makes homespun garments for the household. Each house has its native loom and spinning implements, and the women, rich and poor, spend much of their time in providing clothes for the monasteries and for their home-folk. Many are skilled in embroidery, working beautiful patterns in gold and silver thread, and in worsted, cotton, and silk. Both cotton and silk fabrics are woven at the looms, and many of the embroidered goods are taken to Burmah, where they fetch a high price.

The cotton is grown in the gardens surrounding the house, or purchased in the neighbourhood. Some of the silk is produced from the cocoons of the local silk-worms, and the rest is brought by the Chinese from China. The dyes used by the people to within the last few years were solely vegetable; but these, and pity ’tis so, are being displaced by German aniline dyes. The favourite colours are indigo, orange, maroon, and a reddish brown. Many of the Muhseurs and Upper Shans use a black dye made from the berries of the ebony tree. Turmeric and safflower give a yellow dye; soap-acacia, green; tamarind-fruit a deep red colour, approaching purple; and sapan and thyt-si wood, red.

After breakfast we left Htong Htau, the monk and his acolytes coming to the bank to see us off. Half a mile farther the Meh Khan, a river 150 feet broad, enters from the west. In the village at its mouth is a large teak-built house in an extensive stockade belonging to a Chinese hong or merchant company. We soon afterwards reached Wang Hluang Pow—the Wang Pow where Phya Cha Ban removed his court after deserting Zimmé in 1775.

The houses about here are thatched under the gable-ends as well as on the roofs. The village extends for over two miles, chiefly along the east bank of the river. Rows of women, approaching each other in lines extending from bank to bank, were fishing with drop-nets, formed of a wire frame 2 feet 6 inches square, to which the net is attached. The frame of the net is suspended from four pieces of bamboo string, one at each corner, tied together to form a handle.

88On the west bank of the river is a fine temple and monastery; and a little above Wang Pow a large rest-house stands boldly out from the trees, and is called Nong Doo Sakan by the Zimmé Shans, and Nong Loo Sakan by the Shans in the British Shan States. In the same way Loi, “a mountain,” in British Shan turns to Doi in Zimmé, and in Kampti Shan is Noi. The dialectic differences amongst the various tribes of Shans chiefly lie in a change of the first letter of words and in the occasional dropping of the second letter of a double consonant at the commencement of a word. Ruen, a house, and pla, a fish, in Siamese, become huen and pa in Zimmé and Kampti Shan; ban, a village in Siamese and Zimmé dialects, becomes man in Kampti; chang, an elephant in Siamese and Zimmé, becomes tsang in British Shan and Kampti; and ny changes into y, kl to kr, kh to k, k to ch, and ch into s and ts in various dialects. Most of the Zimmé Shans call Zimmé “Kiang Mai”; the Siamese term it “Chieng Mai.” The Zimmé and British Shans talk of “Kiang Hai”; the Siamese call that place “Chieng Rai.”

Nong Doo Sakan was erected at the expense of the villagers, as a work of merit, for the accommodation of travellers journeying along the main road to Muang Haut. It is built entirely of bamboo and thatched with thek-keh grass. Over a stream on the opposite side of the river was a wooden bridge—the first I had seen since leaving Burmah.

Continuing our journey through the village of Kweh Chow, we reached the southern mouth of the Meh Hkuang, which enters from the east. Between it and the northern mouth lies Pak Bong, a revenue station of the Shan State of Lapoon.

The Meh Hkuang rises in the hills to the north-east of Zimmé, close to the sources of the Meh Low, and by means of canals and irrigating channels irrigates the Zimmé and Lapoon plain nearly to the bank of the Meh Ping. A short distance from its mouth it is joined by the Meh Ta, on which lies the large village of Pa Sang, where Chow Ka Wi La, the successor of Phya Cha Ban, established his court for the fifteen years previous to the reoccupation of Zimmé in 1796. Owing to the rebellion of the Zimmé Shans against 89the Burmese in 1774, when they threw off the Burman yoke and accepted the protection of Siam, a period of warfare ensued. The Burmese besieged Zimmé in 1775. When relieved by the approach of a Siamese force, the Zimmé Shans scattered to the north and south, and the chief, Phya Cha Ban, removed his court to Ta Wang Pow, and, on the approach of a Burmese force, fled to Raheng. The Burmese entered Siam, but were repulsed after they had taken several Siamese cities. The Zimmé chief then returned with his people to Wang Pow. In 1777, owing to a fresh advance of the Burmese, he removed his court to Nong Long, but the following year, owing to the retirement of the Burmese, fixed it at Lapoon, where he was attacked by the chiefs of Kiang Hai and Kiang Hsen. He then fled southwards and set up his court at Wang Sa Kang. Zimmé was deserted for twenty years, 1776–1796, and Lapoon for forty-one years, 1779–1820.

Two miles beyond Pa Sang we halted for the night at a village on the eastern bank, where ten great spider-web wheels in continuous motion watered the gardens and neighbouring fields. The music made by the axles of these wheels working on the trestles which supported them, resembled the tones of an organ, and at night lulled us to sleep.

Next morning we passed a brick-field where seven small clamps, each ten feet square and five feet high, were being burned. Close by, on the opposite bank, a miniature Shan house, about the size of a large pigeon-house, had been built for the accommodation of a local demon. Many such houses, even in the grounds of temples, were subsequently seen along the route. The boatmen passing us in the various craft were now all clad, as the villages were numerous, and roads skirted the river. Several of them were wearing billycock felt hats, common amongst lower-class Chinamen.

We halted for a few minutes at the village of Nong Sang, or Nong Chang, “the elephant’s lake,” to inspect the tile works. The men were puddling the clay on a buffalo’s hide by pounding it with their feet. The roofing-tiles are a quarter of an inch thick, nine inches long, and four and a half inches broad, and are turned up at one end for three-quarters 90of an inch to enable them to hang on to the battens of the roof. They are moulded separately on a bench, across which the man sits astride. After sanding the mould, he plunges the clay into it, and cuts off the superfluous material with a string fastened to a fiddle-bow. The upper face of the tile is then smoothed with a three-sided stick, which has been previously cleansed by rubbing it against two cylindrical brushes made of cocoa-nut fibre, which lie in a little trough, raised on posts, and full of water. The front of the mould is movable. The tiles are taken out and dried under a thatched shed, and afterwards are placed on their side-edge in a kiln and burned. The tiles are used for roofing the temples and better class of Shan and Chinese houses.

Two miles farther we passed another village of tile-makers, and at the 220th mile came to Ban Hsope Long, above which is a series of long, cultivated islands. Both banks of the river as well as the islands are embanked to save the cultivation from being swamped in flood-time.

Above Hsope Long, which extends for about two miles, we passed through the village of Ta Kwai, “the buffalo’s ford,” and halted for breakfast. From here the banks of the river to some miles above the city of Zimmé are nearly continuously fringed with villages. The houses, temples, and monasteries are imbedded in, and often hidden by, beautiful orchards, containing palms, cocoa-nut, mango, tamarind, citron, orange, pummelo, and many other fruit and flowering trees, and the whole scene on land and water is one of bustling life.

In an hour we were off again, and after passing the temple and monastery of Koon Kong, came to a large hong belonging to some Chinese merchants of Raheng. A mile farther the Meh Kha entered from the west, and just above its mouth is the village of Pak Muang.

Opposite Pak Muang many buffaloes of a light colour were lying in the river, enjoying still contentment, with their nostrils only just above the water. If they had not been too indolent to scent us, they would have advanced with heads stretched out, horns laid back, and nostrils sniffing to satisfy their natural curiosity, and then have plunged back helter-skelter 91to the bank, and stood gazing at us from a respectful distance; or else, finding we were strangers of the hated white race, have lowered their heads, made lances of their horns, and charged full tilt at us. My first experience of hunting in Burmah was being hunted when on pony-back by a herd of buffaloes in full chase after me, and being saved by the herd boy, a lad of eleven or twelve years of age, who, happening to be between me and them, rushed forward and drove them in another direction. I would gladly have tipped that boy if I could have got at him without renewing my acquaintance with the buffaloes. At Ta Hong Pai, and later at Song Kare, a village at the mouth of the Meh Ka, which enters from the east, I got a good view of Loi Soo Tayp, the great hill behind Zimmé, and made sketches, at the same time taking angles to the well-defined peaks. We halted for the night at the monastery of Chedi Lee-am, which is situated at the 233d mile to the east of the river.

Chedi Lee-am, the pagoda to which the monastery is attached, was the largest seen by me in the Shan States. A hole five feet in diameter had been broken into one side of it near the top, in order to rob the shrine; otherwise it was in good repair. This pagoda is peculiar in shape, and resembles a rectangular church-steeple rising in five great steps or tiers, cut off from the tower and placed on the ground. Its summit has not been provided with a htee, or umbrella.

Each side of each tier had three niches, and each niche 92contained a statue of Gaudama larger than life, making sixty images in all. At each corner of each tier was a pedestal finished off with a flame-like ornament at the top. The pagoda was 60 feet square at the base, and 120 feet high. It is made of brick, and plastered over with excellent cement.

The next day, the 25th of February, we left early, being eager to arrive at Zimmé, which was distant less than two hours’ journey. The night’s rain had washed the face of Nature, burnished the trees, and brightened the whole landscape. The cool fresh morning air, that bathed one’s hands and face, was scented with the fragrance of flowering shrubs and trees, and the panorama we were passing through was delightful.

Temples decorated with dark red and gold, and picturesque monasteries, were set like gems in the beautiful fringes of foliage that skirted the banks. Women and girls, gaily attired in a striped petticoat, or one of a small tartan, and a silk scarf thrown over the left shoulder, tripped along barefooted on their way to the city, with baskets of garden-produce and flowers. Here was a group of men and women squatting on the sands, and having a chat before crossing the ford; there men, women, and children, with their garments tucked up above their knees, laughing and joking as they waded the stream; children playing in the water, dashing it about and splashing each other; cattle lowing on the banks on their way to the fields; the sun lighting up the bald pates and yellow garments of the monks and acolytes who were passing in processions and carrying their begging-bowls through the suburbs, which now lined the banks; women and children heaping their little cups of rice and saucers of fish and condiments into the monks’ bowls—whilst the monks,—at least the young ones, who have the reputation of being a jovial crew,—peeped over their fans, which were intended to veil fair women from their sight.

Half an hour before reaching the wooden bridge that spans the river, we came in sight of the walled city, which lies 430 yards inland from the west bank; then rowing between 93vegetable gardens, which had been planted on the numerous sandbanks, halted at the bridge to learn the position of the quarters of the American Presbyterian Mission, which had been established since 1867 in the suburbs of Zimmé, and since 1840 in Bangkok. The bridge lies 82¼ miles from Muang Haut and 236½ miles from Hlineboay, or about 300 miles from Maulmain. The height of the banks near the bridge is 1008 feet above sea-level.

OUR RECEPTION—THE MISSION-HOUSE—A BEAUTIFUL VIEW—A REPAST—REV. J. WILSON—ANCIENT BOUNDARIES OF ZIMMÉ—CITY OF ZIMMÉ—POPULATION—THE BRIDGE—AN HERMAPHRODITE—YOUTHFUL DIANAS—FEMALE DRESS—THE MARKET—SHOPS—THE PALACE—VISIT THE KING—DISCUSSION ABOUT THE RAILWAY—PRISONERS IN CHAINS—VISIT A PRINCESS—SHAN EMBROIDERY—A GREAT TRADER—AMOUNT OF CARAVAN TRAFFIC—NUMBER OF ELEPHANTS—BOAT TRAFFIC.

In the meantime Dr M‘Gilvary, hearing that our boats had passed, had hurried off a servant to follow them and conduct us to his house. The house is built in a large palisaded garden, which is separated from the east bank of the river by a cart-road.

Entering the garden, where English roses were growing amongst the glorious flowers and flowering shrubs of the tropics, and the air was scented with the sweet blossoms of orange and pummelo trees, we were met by Dr and Mrs M‘Gilvary and their little son, who gave us a hearty welcome, and insisted upon our enjoying their hospitality during our stay in Zimmé. Nothing could be more agreeable to us. Pleasant friendly faces, lovely flowers, beautiful fruit-trees, a fine, large, commodious house, a splendid view of Loi Soo Tayp, and the best possible position for collecting information—what more could be desired? The house was constructed for the accommodation of two families of missionaries. One-half was unoccupied, as the Rev. Mr Martin and his wife were on their way from Bangkok, so no one would be cramped by our taking up our quarters there; besides which, Drs M‘Gilvary and Cushing were old friends. We therefore gladly accepted the offer.

95The Mission-house is built of teak with a shingle roof, in the ordinary style of bungalows in Burmah. A staircase leads up to a broad verandah, from which the front bedrooms and sitting-rooms are entered. At the back are the bath-rooms and another verandah, with a flight of steps leading to the garden and kitchen. The orchard contains fine shady clumps of bamboos, cocoa-nut, mango, tamarind, pomegranate, custard-apple, pummelo, guava, orange, citron, papaw, and coffee trees. The passion-flower grows in great luxuriance, and affords a luscious fruit, which can either be eaten as a vegetable, or like a papaw or a melon.

After the constant strain upon my attention during the journey, I greatly enjoyed reclining in a long-armed chair in the front verandah of the house, and watching, whilst I lazily puffed at my cigar, the ever-changing expression of the great mountain at the back of the city. The lights and shades swiftly flitting across its forest-clad slopes, as the clouds coursed betwixt it and the sun; the beautiful bijou views in the early morning, as the mist opened out and closed in when dissolving under the influence of the sun; the foreground formed by suburbs on the other side of the river, embosomed in orchards, amongst which the areca-nut, palmyra, and cocoa-nut palms reared their graceful stems and beautiful plumes; the stream of ever-varying and ever-picturesque life moving along the road and river; the music formed of the murmur of distant voices; the clearer notes of those that were near, and the clash and clatter that proceeds from the busy haunts of men,—the whole was like a pleasant dream, such a one as Ole Luk Oi, in Andersen’s ‘Fairy Tales,’ showed the good little boy when he had thrown dust in his eyes and led him into Dreamland.

Having been shown our rooms, we had the luggage carried up and the necessary things unpacked, adding some of our stores to Mrs M‘Gilvary’s cuisine for the forthcoming banquet.

What a banquet that was! Never in my life, since or before, have I so enjoyed a repast. A nice white tablecloth and napkin once more under one’s nose, and European food, with American dainties, and dessert, where fresh 96strawberries, gathered in the Mission garden, made their appearance, and violets were placed in glasses by our side. I felt more inclined to feast my eyes and my sense of smell than to eat—everything was so tempting and so tasteful. Then the fragrance of a well-cooked dinner; and fresh vegetables, and plenty of them; and that pumpkin-pie, the first I had ever tasted,—it was a feast for the gods! A gourmet who wishes to revel in the highest pitch of epicurean enjoyment, could not do better than take a trip into the jungle, and after recouping his jaded appetite, suffering from six weeks’ privation and frugal fare, taste the relish of such a feast.

After dinner was over, we received a visit from the Rev. Jonathan Wilson, who had been with the Mission at Zimmé since 1868, the year after it had been established there by the Rev. Daniel M‘Gilvary. After giving me a hearty shake of the hand, he asked what he could do for me, and was delighted at the prospect of a railway being carried from Burmah through Siam and the Shan States. Railways were the grandest civilisers in the world, and would do wonders in ameliorating the wretched condition of the people and in spreading Christianity through the land. “Don’t be afraid of troubling me,” he said; “I shall be only too delighted to aid in your good work.” He then asked me to come and talk matters over with him at his diggings. He lived next door, all by himself. His wife was recruiting her health in America, and the two young ladies, who resided in one-half of the house and taught in the Mission schools, were away in the district. We accordingly strolled through the gardens to his house, where, after talking over matters, he promised to have my gold-leaf changed into silver; to collect all the information he could about trade and prices from the people; to inquire about the manners, customs, spirit-lore, and superstitions of the people; and give me a written memorandum about them. I was certainly most fortunate in securing the aid of missionaries who had been so long in the country as Mr Wilson and Dr M‘Gilvary, particularly when they manifested such interest in gathering information for me.

97The ancient kingdom of Zimmé, or Kiang Mai, according to M‘Leod, “comprised fifty-seven cities, mentioned in the Burmese books as fifty-seven Kraings (corruption of Kiang, a fortified or walled city), many of which at present exist, or their ruins can be traced. Muang Nan and Muang Phé (Peh) were included in the number, and the capital was both Kiang Mai and Kiang Hai, a place to the northward on the Mé Khók (Meh Khoke). It extended from the Mé Khong (Cambodia river) to the Mé Khóng (the Salween river) east and west. To the northward it was bounded by the territories of Kiang Tsen (Hsen) and Kiang Tung, which extended to the Mé Khók; to the southward to the territories of Kampeng, belonging to Siam.” The kingdom, according to the Siamese history, was known as Sawakamala, and its capital as Krung (Kiang) see Satanahkanahut, probably Pali names, and not used colloquially, but merely in religious and State documents.

The city of Zimmé, which lies 430 yards to the west of the river, is divided into two parts, the one embracing the other, like a letter L, on the south and east sides. The inner city faces the cardinal points, and is walled and moated all round. The walls are of brick, 22 feet high, and crenelated at the top, where they are 3½ feet broad. The moat surrounding the walls is 30 feet wide and 7 feet deep. The outer city is more than half a mile broad, and is partly walled and partly palisaded on its exterior sides. Both cities are entered by gates leading in and out of a fortified courtyard.

The inner city contains the palace of the head king, the residences of many of the nobility and wealthy men, and numerous religious buildings. In the outer city, which is peopled chiefly by the descendants of captives, the houses are packed closer together than in the inner one, the gardens are smaller, the religious buildings are fewer, and the population is more dense. The roads in both cities are laid out at right angles to each other; no rubbish is allowed to be placed outside the gardens of the houses, which are palisaded; water is led into the town from a stream flowing from Loi Soo Tayp; the floors of the houses are all raised 986 or 8 feet from the ground; and the whole place has an air of trim neatness about it.

The suburbs of the city extend for a great distance, straggling along both banks of the river, and it is therefore difficult to fix the line where they may be said to cease. Dr Cheek, a son-in-law of Dr M‘Gilvary, had an extensive practice among the princes and people of Zimmé, and endeavoured to arrive at an approximate estimate of its population. Taking a length of 9 miles and a breadth of 2 miles, or 18 square miles, as the area covered by the city and its suburbs, he arrived at the conclusion that its population could not be less than 100,000 souls. I do not think the double city by itself can contain more than 30,000 or less than 20,000 inhabitants.

Another estimate formed by Dr Cheek concerned the population of the State of Zimmé. This was based upon an incomplete list of the houses upon which a levy was to be made for feeding the Yaks, or local deities, at the yearly sacrifice. The list included 97,000 houses at the time Dr Cheek saw it; and as seven people on an average live in each house, the population of these houses could not be less than 600,000 souls. Allowing for the other houses not then noted, and for the houses of Lawa, Karen, Muhseu, and other hill-people who are not enumerated in the subscription lists, the gross population of the Zimmé State—including Zimmé, Kiang Hai, Kiang Hsen, Muang Pow, Muang Houngson, Muang Fang, Muang Ken, and its other sub-provinces—must be about 700,000 people.

The following day, accompanied by Drs Cushing and M‘Gilvary, I made a round of visits to the king and members of the Court at Zimmé. Leaving the house, we followed the bank of the river to the timber bridge, and crossed it to the western suburbs. The centre span is removable, so as to allow the royal boats of the chiefs to pass through, and is raised about a foot above the rest of the flooring, thus being a great hindrance to the passage of carts and carriages. When driving over the bridge, our carriage had to be lifted on and off this raised portion. No nails or bolts were used in the structure; consequently the planks moved 99up and down like the keys of a piano as we passed over it.

Following the road through the western suburb, I entered one of the shops to purchase some Chinese umbrellas, as mine were the worse for wear, and was served by a person dressed in ordinary female costume, who seemed to be very masculine in appearance, and considerably above 4 feet 10 inches in height—a height few Zimmé Shan women attain to. On telling Dr M‘Gilvary, he informed me that the individual was an hermaphrodite; that this peculiar form of Nature’s freaks was by no means uncommon in the country; and that all such people were obliged to dress in female costume.

It is a pretty sight in the early morning to watch the women and girls from the neighbouring villages streaming over the bridge on their way to the market, passing along in single file, with their baskets dangling from each end of a shoulder-bamboo, or accurately poised on their heads. The younger women move like youthful Dianas, with a quick, firm, and elastic tread, and in symmetry of form resemble the ideal models of Grecian art.

The ordinary costume of these graceful maidens consists of flowers in their hair, which shines like a raven’s wing, and is combed back and arranged in a neat and beautiful knot; a petticoat or skirt, frequently embroidered near the bottom with silk, worsted, cotton, or gold and silver thread; and at times a pretty silk or gauze scarf cast carelessly over their bosom and one shoulder. Of late years, moreover, the missionaries have persuaded their female converts and the girls in their schools to wear a neat white jacket, and the custom is gradually spreading through the city and into the neighbouring villages.

The elder women wear a dark-blue cotton scarf, which is sometimes replaced by a white cotton spencer, similar to that worn by married ladies in Burmah, and have an extra width added to the top of the skirt, which can be raised and tucked in at the level of the armpit.

On gala occasions it is the fashion to twine gold chains round the knot of their hair, and likewise adorn it with a 100handsome gold pin. The Shans are famous for their gold and silver chased work; and beautifully designed gold and silver ornaments, bracelets, necklaces, and jewel-headed cylinders in their ear-laps, are occasionally worn by the wealthier classes.

After passing through the gates of the outer city we entered the market, which extends for more than half a mile to the gates of the inner city, and beyond them for some distance towards the palace. On either side of the main road little covered booths or stalls are set up; but most of the women spread a mat on the ground to sit upon, and placing their baskets by their side, expose their provisions upon wicker-work trays or freshly cut plantain-leaves.

The variety of vegetables exposed for sale is not very great, and consists chiefly of sweet-potatoes, yams, onions, mushrooms, cucumbers, pumpkins, gourds, sword-beans, onions, garlic, Indian corn, young bamboo-shoots, chillies, and seri-leaf for chewing with tobacco, areca-nut, and lime.

Some of the market-women bring ducks and fowls, others tobacco, areca-nuts, native confectionery, jaggery, rice, wax, and flowers; besides oranges, citrons, pummeloes, mangoes, tamarinds, plantains, cocoa-nuts, and melons, and any other fruit that may be in season.

In the meat-market—which is served only by men—pork, fish, and frogs, and sometimes venison, are sold, and occasionally beef can be had. Cattle may not be killed without an order from the Court, and whoever kills a beast must expose its head and feet to ensure that it has not been stolen. Before this rule was made, cattle-theft is said to have been frequent. The market generally lasts about three hours, but some of the unsuccessful linger a little longer in the hope of selling their wares.

In the shops adjoining the market, some of which are kept by Chinamen and Burmese, the occupiers are general dealers. In them are kept for sale umbrellas and fans, lacquered brass, and crockery-ware, native embroideries, English cotton piece-goods, broadcloths, velvets, velveteens, satins, silks, muslins, Chinese silks and crapes, silk jackets and trousers, silk jackets lined with fur, German aniline 101dyes and needles, Swedish and English matches, tinned salmon, sardines, milk, butter, jam, swords, knives, nails, gongs, hoes, large shallow iron pans, iron tripods for setting over the fire, brimstone, bluestone, arsenic, native and patent medicines, pestles and mortars for elderly toothless people to crush their betel-nut in, vegetable-wax tapers for burning in the temples, Chinese perfumery, and pictorial paper scrolls; kerosene oil and lamps, glass basins, decanters and mantelpiece vases, and a selection of earthenware jars, pots and pans; in fact, all that a native purchaser has learned to desire.

Passing from the outer into the inner town, we continued along the main road until we came to the enclosure wall of the palace grounds. The gate of the palace lies 1140 yards from the entrance of the inner town, and leads into an extensive court containing several buildings. The palace faces the gate, and is a substantial one-storeyed building, slightly Chinese in aspect, with brick walls, plastered over with an excellent cement, and a tiled roof.

Ascending a flight of steps, paved with black tiles, we entered the audience-hall, which occupied the whole front of the building. The floor of the hall is inlaid with various woods, several chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the walls were papered like an English drawing-room, and adorned with long, narrow, gilt-framed mirrors. The remainder of the furniture consisted of a lounge, an easy-chair, a dozen drawing-room chairs, upholstered in green rep, and a small tea-table. Through the doors leading into the private apartments some elegantly designed carved lattice-work partitions were seen, which served as screens to the interior of the palace.

A few minutes after we were seated, the king, dressed in a green silk loongyee or skirt, and a white cotton jacket with gold buttons, entered the hall, and after shaking hands, welcomed us in a quiet and dignified manner. Tea was then brought in, and we seated ourselves round the table. After a few preliminary remarks, Dr M‘Gilvary told him the object of my visit, and the great boon to his country that the construction of a railway to connect it with Burmah 102and China would be. He was rather thick-skulled, and had never been remarkable for intelligence. He could not understand how trains could move faster than ponies, or how they could move at all without being drawn by some animal. Anyhow, they could not ascend the hills, for they would slide down unless they were pulled up.

I explained to him that I had made three railways in England, and therefore he might rely upon what I said. Railways were made in various parts of the world over much more difficult hills than those lying between Zimmé and Maulmain; that even along the route I had taken it would not be very expensive to carry a railway, and that it would be still easier to carry one from Maulmain to Raheng. As to the possibility of trains being moved without being drawn by animals, he could ask any of his people who had been to Rangoon; all of them would tell him that locomotives, although on wheels, dragged the train along.

He seemed quite stupefied by the revelation. It might be so—it must be so, as I had seen it—but he could not understand how it could be. He was very old; he could not live much longer; he hoped we would be quick in setting about and constructing the line, as otherwise he would not have the pleasure of seeing it.

I then asked him to aid me in collecting information, and in choosing the best route through his territories by having me provided with the best guides, and by issuing instructions to the governors of the provinces to assist me by every means in their power. This he promised to do; and after a little general conversation, we shook hands with him, thanked him for his kindness, and departed.

We next visited Chow Oo-boon-la-wa-na, the only sister of the queen, and the daughter of the late king of Zimmé. On entering her grounds we noticed several prisoners in chains sawing timber. An iron collar was riveted round their necks, and from this a string supported their leg-irons and enabled them to work more easily.

There being no Government allowance for their food, the prisoners are dependent upon the charity of the market-women and their own relations for their victuals. The term 103of their imprisonment depends greatly upon the ability of their relations or friends to pay the fines which are imposed for all crimes but murder. The prisoners, when not at work, are allowed to roam about the city in their chains, and their relations are held responsible if they should escape.

Ascending the steps of the house we entered a broad verandah, where several of the princess’s women were engaged on fancy needlework, and in weaving. Some were embroidering triangular-shaped velvet ends for Shan pillows; others were embroidering silken skirts, and showing great skill and taste in the designs and workmanship. The audience-hall was raised about 15 inches above the verandah, and at its back was a large stand of arms containing old Tower muskets marked with G. R., swords, cross-bows, and lances, many of the last being imitations made out of wood and painted red. The muskets are sold in Bangkok for 7 or 8 rupees each, and fetch from 10 to 12 rupees in Zimmé. It must be about equally dangerous to fire with such a weapon as to be fired at.

After being introduced to the princess and her little daughter by Dr M‘Gilvary, and admiring the embroidery which was worked in coloured silks and gold and silver threads, I broached the subject of my visit by telling her about the proposed railway, and saying that the missionaries had told me that she was the best person to apply to about the trade of the country, and that I should be deeply obliged if she would give me what information she could upon the subject.

In reply she said that she was delighted to hear about the railway. She was one of the largest traders in the country, and would do what she could to further the project. A railway, she knew, would bring wealth to the country, and carry the produce cheaply away. Every one, nobles and people, would be glad if a railway was made to connect their country with Burmah and China.

She went on to say that she had long taken an interest in the currents of trade that passed through Zimmé; and, in her own interests, had endeavoured to arrive at the number of men and animals employed in the caravan trade. 104No accurate statistics had been made, but she would gladly give me the outcome of her inquiries.

Then, after a little consideration, she told me that from 700 to 1000 laden mules and ponies came yearly from Yunnan, and from 7000 to 8000 from Kiang Tung, Kiang Hung, and other places in the British Shan States; 1000 elephants are employed in carrying goods to and from Kiang Hsen, chiefly for transhipment to Luang Prabang and elsewhere; 5000 porters travel into Lower Burmah, and 4000 to the neighbouring States, and to the British Shan States lying to the north; 3000 laden oxen ply between Zimmé and Lakon, and from 500 to 600 to Lower Burmah. The movement of unladen animals for sale, she said, was as follows: Between 5000 and 6000 buffaloes were brought yearly to Zimmé from Luang Prabang, and numerous oxen from Lapoon and Lakon; and from 200 to 300 elephants were yearly taken into Burmah. The porters travelled throughout the year, and the Chinese caravans proceeded as far south as Ootaradit, a Siamese town at the head of the navigation of the Meh Nam.

According to her, elephants were very numerous in the country; there were fully 8000 both in Zimmé and Lakon, even more in Nan, and about half that number in Peh. A considerable boat traffic existed on the river, particularly in the rainy season. One thousand boats plied between Zimmé and Raheng, many of them proceeding to Bangkok.

When taking leave, the princess promised to aid me in getting elephants for continuing my journey, and said she hoped we would give her the pleasure of our company at dinner before we left. We then returned to our house, as it was about breakfast-time, and Mrs M‘Gilvary would be expecting us.

CHOW OO-BOON, A SPIRIT-MEDIUM—CONSULTING ANCESTRAL SPIRITS—AN EXORCIST—SPIRIT OF WITCHCRAFT—ILL-TREATING A PATIENT—TREATMENT OF WITCHES—FALSE CHARGES—MISSIONARY DESTROYS AN IMAGE—EXECUTION OF CHRISTIANS—PROCLAMATION IN FAVOUR OF CHRISTIANS—MISSIONARIES PROTECT WITCHES—UNDERMINE SUPERSTITION—GHOSTS PERCHING ON TREES—A MISSIONARY GHOST—HEADLESS DEMONS—A DEMONIAC.

After breakfast I went next door to have another chat with Mr Wilson. He told me that Chow Oo-boon had great power with the members of the Government, who were all connected with the royal family; because, besides being the queen’s sister, she was the spirit-medium of the family. As an instance of her power, he stated that when called in to consult the spirits after the late Chow Hona, or second king, was struck down with sickness, she boldly told him that the spirits were displeased at his oppression of the people, and advised him at once to abolish certain vexatious taxes, particularly the monopoly of arrack, or rice-spirit.

The method practised when consulting the beneficent spirits—who, like mortals, are fond of retaliating when provoked—is as follows: When the physician’s skill has been found incapable of mastering a disease, a spirit-medium—a woman who claims to be in communion with the spirits—is called in. After arraying herself fantastically, the medium sits on a mat that has been spread for her in the front verandah, and is attended to with respect, and plied with arrack by the people of the house, and generally accompanied in her performance by a band of village musicians with modulated music.

106Between her tipplings she chants an improvised doggerel, which includes frequent incantations, till at length, in the excitement of her potations, and worked on by her song, her body begins to sway about, and she becomes frantic, and seemingly inspired. The spirits are then believed to have taken possession of her body, and all her utterances from that time are regarded as those of the spirits.

On showing signs of being willing to answer questions, the relations or friends of the sick person beseech the spirits to tell them what medicines and food should be given to the invalid to restore him or her to health; what they have been offended at; and how their just wrath may be appeased. Her knowledge of the family affairs and misdemeanours generally enables her to give shrewd and brief answers to the latter questions. She states that the Pee—in this case the ancestral, or, perhaps, village spirits—are offended by such an action or actions, and that to propitiate them such-and-such offerings should be made. In case the spirits have not been offended, her answers are merely a prescription; after which, if only a neighbour, she is dismissed with a fee of two or three rupees, and, being more or less intoxicated, is helped home.

In case the spirit-medium’s prescription proves ineffective and the person gets worse, witchcraft is sometimes suspected, and an exorcist is called in. The charge of witchcraft means ruin to the person accused, and to his or her family. It arises as follows: The ghost or spirit of witchcraft is called Pee-Kah. No one professes to have seen it, but it is said to have the form of a horse, from the sound of its passage through the forest resembling the clatter of a horse’s hoofs when at full gallop. These spirits are said to be reinforced by the deaths of very poor people, whose spirits were so disgusted with those who refused them food or shelter that they determined to return and place themselves at the disposal of their descendants to haunt their stingy and hard-hearted neighbours. Should any one rave in delirium, a Pee-Kah is supposed to have passed by.

Every class of spirits—even the ancestral spirits, and those that guard the streets and villages—are afraid of the PeeKah. 107At its approach the household spirits take instant flight; nor will they return until it has worked its will and retired, or been exorcised. Yet the Pee-Kah, as I have shown, is itself an ancestral spirit, and follows as their shadow the son and daughter, as it followed their parents through their lives. It is not ubiquitous, but at one time may attend the parent and at another the child, when both are living. Its food is the entrails of its living victim, and its feast continues until its appetite is satisfied, or the feast is cut short by the incantations of the spirit-doctor or exorcist. Very often the result is the death of its victim.

When the exorcist, spirit-doctor, or witch-finder is called in and asked whether he considers the patient is suffering from a Pee-Kah, he puts on a knowing look, and after a cursory examination of the person, generally declares it to be so. His task is then to find out whose Pee-Kah is devouring the sick person. After calling the officer of the village and a few head-men as witnesses, he commences questioning the invalid. He first asks, “Whose spirit has bewitched you?” The person may be in a stupor, half unconscious, half delirious from the severity of the disease, and therefore does not reply. A pinch or a stroke of a cane may restore consciousness. If so, the question is repeated; if not, another pinch or stroke is administered. A cry of pain may be the result. That is one step towards the disclosure; for it is a curious fact that, after the case has been pronounced one of witchcraft, each reply to the question, pinch, or stroke is considered as being uttered by the Pee-Kah through the mouth of the bewitched person.

A person pinched or caned into consciousness cannot long endure the torture, especially if reduced by a long illness. Those who have not the wish nor the heart to injure any one often refuse to name the wizard or witch until they have been unmercifully beaten.

On the sick person naming an individual as the owner of the spirit, other questions are asked—such as, “How many buffaloes has he?” “How many pigs?” “How many chickens?” “How much money?” &c. The answers to the questions are taken down by a scribe. A time is then 108appointed to meet at the house of the accused, and the same questions as to his possessions are put to him. If his answers agree with those of the sick person, he is condemned and held responsible for the acts of his ghost.

The case is then laid before the judge of the court, the verdict is confirmed, and a sentence of banishment is passed on the person and his or her family. The condemned person is barely given time to sell or remove his property. His house is wrecked or burnt, and the trees in the garden cut down, unless it happens to be sufficiently valuable for a purchaser to employ an exorcist, who for a small fee will render the house safe for the buyer; but it never fetches half its cost, and must be removed from the haunted ground. If the condemned person lingers beyond the time that has been granted to him, his house is set on fire, and, if he still delays, he is whipped out of the place with a cane. If he still refuses to go, or returns, he is put to death.

The late King of Zimmé, on hearing from the villagers of the Karen village of Ban Hta, that their head-man was bewitching them and would not leave the village, allowed the people to club him to death. About three years before my visit another case came to the knowledge of the missionaries, where two Karens were brought to the city by some of their neighbours, charged with causing the death of a young man by witchcraft. The case was a clear one against the accused. The young man had been possessed of a musical instrument, and had refused to sell it to the accused, who wished to purchase it. Shortly afterwards he became ill, and died in fourteen days. At his cremation, a portion of his body would not burn, and was of a shape similar to the musical instrument. It was clear that the wizards had put the form of the coveted musical instrument into his body to kill him. The Karens were beheaded, notwithstanding that they protested their innocence, and threatened that their spirits should return and wreak vengeance for their unjust punishment. Witches and wizards in the Shan States are free agents and have made no compact with the devil. The old Burman custom for the trial of witches was similar to that practised in former 109times in England: the thumbs and toes being tied together, the suspected person was thrown into the water, and sinking was a proof of innocence, floating of guilt.

In Mr Wilson’s opinion, the charge of witchcraft often arises from envy, or from spite; and sickness for the purposes of revenge is sometimes simulated. A neighbour wants a house or garden, and the owner either requires more than he wishes to pay, or refuses to sell it at all. Covetousness consumes his heart, and the witch-ghost is brought into action. Then the covetous person, or his child, or a neighbour, falls ill, or feigns illness; the ailment baffles the skill of the physician, and the witch-finder is called in. Then all is smooth sailing and little is left to chance.

In the early days of the Mission at Zimmé, Christians were very unfavourably looked on by the officials. This may partly have arisen from what I consider to have been, under the circumstances, an injudicious act of a missionary. An old temple-ground was handed over to the missionaries as a compound for their houses and schools. The temple was in ruins, but a sandstone image of Buddha, five feet in height, was intact, and was much reverenced by the people, who placed offerings of fruit and flowers before it. The missionaries used the ruins of the temple for levelling the ground, and buried the image under the débris. One day during some alterations it was dug up, and the people swarmed into the compound to pay their respects to it, although it had lost its head. The missionary then took an axe and knocked it to pieces before the people, who were naturally horrified and offended at the, to them, sacrilegious deed. The people were still more disgusted by seeing the pedestal upon which the image had been seated turned into a garden seat, and the fragments of the image made into a rockery.

Another cause of friction arose in 1869 from two new converts neglecting to aid in repairing the palisading round the outer city when instructed to do so by the officials. The missionaries believed that the affair arose merely from a misunderstanding. Anyhow, the two converts were seized, 110and fastened with ropes passed through the holes in their ear-laps to the upper beams of a house, and next day clubbed to death. The missionaries complained to the King of Siam, and a Siamese official was sent up to inquire into the case. The King of Zimmé, being bound to Siam only so far as tribute and his foreign relations were concerned, answered the commissioner by stating that it was his affair and not Siam’s, and that he intended to kill as many of his own people as he chose. It was not till nine years afterwards, in the present king’s reign, five years after the appointment of the Siamese commissioner at Zimmé, that a proclamation, issued by the Siamese Government, declaring that any of the Siamese Shans might change their religion with impunity, was allowed to be placarded up in the Court of Zimmé. At the time of my visit, the missionaries had made nearly two hundred converts and were much respected by the princes and the people.

Besides converting the people and opening schools for their education, the missionaries have been doing their utmost to conquer the belief of the people in witchcraft; and I was glad to hear that it had become a custom with several of the princes of Zimmé and the neighbouring States, as well as other intelligent people, to call in the aid of the physician attached to the Mission in cases of serious illness in their families. Another blow has been given to superstition by the missionaries sheltering those who lie under the accusation of witchcraft. At the time of my visit sixteen accused families were residing in the Mission grounds, some of whom had been converted to Christianity; and most of the children were attending the schools.

The people account for no harm having happened to the missionaries through their harbouring witches by saying that the Pee-Kah are afraid of Europeans, and clamber up the tamarind-trees near the gate of the Mission when the witches go in, and wait until they leave the yard to enter them again.

One of the trees outside the compound was much dreaded by people who had to pass near it. The cries of the spirits were often heard from its branches at night. At times the 111spirits descended to the ground and confronted passers-by. One of them resembled a child about a year old; then, in a second, its form would expand and grow until it was taller than the tree, when it would vanish after forcing a scream of horror from the affrighted beholder. This ghost for some reason assumed the appearance of a missionary.

One day Mr Wilson saw a fire built close to the tree, and two men squatting near it. On approaching them he noticed that one was holding two small chickens over the flames, whose feathers were already half consumed. The other had a bundle of bamboo splints, which he was sticking into the ground to support a platform, upon which the fowls, when roasted, were to be offered to the spirits. This was too much for the embodied missionary, who, much to their dismay, insisted upon their taking their offerings out of his compound.

When visiting Dr Peoples, the physician attached to the Mission, he told me of a strange case of hysteria which arose from the belief of the Shans in evil spirits. There was a man living in the northern quarter of the city who possessed a garden of areca palms and plantains. In the garden was a well, the abode of a Pee-Hong, or headless spirit: all deceased murderers, adulterers, and other people who have been executed become Pee-Hong. In its way to and from this well the Pee-Hong passed through a grove of trees, which the owner, against the wishes of his neighbours, who feared the wrath of the demon, determined to cut down. A short time after the trees had been destroyed he became very uneasy and unwell; and whenever thinking or talking on the subject, figures appeared on his limbs and body, in the form of regular welts, shaped like leaves and trunks and whole trees—sometimes resembling plantain-trees, 112at others areca palms. Having tried every form of exorcism, he applied to Dr Peoples for help through his medical assistant, but refused to display the spirit manifestations before him, saying that they would not appear before Christians. The doctor prescribed for the man, and went to visit him the next day at his house, but he had left his family and started for a famous shrine. Many months had passed since then, but nothing further had been heard of the demoniac.

The belief in the transmigration of the soul into the bodies of animals is apt to give rise to a peculiar form of hallucination. In one of the Siamese books a tale is told of a wife plotting the death of her affectionate husband with her paramour, and, on the success of the plot, marrying the latter. Soon afterwards the woman noticed a snake in the house, which she thought must be her late husband, as she imagined it looked lovingly upon her. After killing the snake she had a cow which she killed for the same reason. Then she had a dog which followed her everywhere with affectionate watchfulness, and she, thinking her husband’s soul must be in it, killed it. After the dog’s death a child was born, who, because it looked at her with loving eyes, she thought must be her husband. Not daring to cut short its life, and unable to bear the sight of it, she gave it out to be nursed. When the child grew up, it is said to have remembered the various migrations of its soul from the time that it was the husband of its own mother, and to have told the story to its grandmother.

VISIT THE SIAMESE COMMISSIONER—DESCRIPTION AND DRESS OF SIAMESE—DECEITFUL OFFICIALS—PRINCE PRISDANG’S LETTER—PIE-CRUST PROMISES—A MOUNTEBANK—CALL ON THE PRINCESS—TREATY OF 1874—SIAM‘S RELATION TO SHAN STATES—FORMER OBSTACLES TO TRADE REMOVED—VISIT FROM CHOW OO-BOON—ASSASSINATING A LOVER—SHAN QUEEN IN ENGLISH DRESS—FAST AND EASY-GOING ELEPHANTS PRIZED—KIAN YUEN, AN OLD CAPITAL—A CHINESE PAGODA—CITY OF THE FLOWER-GARDEN—MUANG LA MAING, THE SITE OF THE FIRST ZIMMÉ SHAN CITY—ASCENT OF LOI SOO TAYP—THE PAGODA OF THE EMERALD RICE-BOWL—PAGODA SLAVES—DR M‘GILVARY JOINS MY PARTY—VISITING BURMESE FORESTERS—RELIGIOUS BUILDINGS ERECTED BY THE BURMESE.

In the afternoon Dr M‘Gilvary went with me to call on the Siamese commissioner, who resides in a large, two-storeyed, whitewashed brick house, near the west bank of the river. We were shown into an airy upper room, which serves as an audience-chamber, and is furnished with a large round table surrounded by a number of chairs. On our entry we were welcomed by Chow Don, the junior Siamese assistant-commissioner, a bright, gentlemanly-looking young man about twenty-four years of age. A few minutes later the Siamese commissioner, an iron-grey-haired, well-built man above the average height of Siamese, and very plausible and courteous in behaviour, came in, and after shaking hands, offered us cigars and tea.

Amongst the Siamese the dress of the two sexes is exactly alike, but the women are shorter and more brazen-faced than the men, and wear a love-lock above each ear. Both have their hair cut short at the back and sides of the head, and wear it either swept back from the forehead or 114parted in the middle. It is very thick, coarse, and intensely black.

Their dress consists of a panung or waist-cloth, and a jacket. The panung is a plaid-shaped cloth about 7 feet long and 2½ feet broad, and made of cotton or of silk. It is passed round the body, held together tight in front, where a twist in the top is made, and tucked in. The two trailing ends are then picked up, passed under the legs, and tucked in at the small of the back. The upper classes wear stockings, often of gay colours, and elastic-sided boots or shoes, and girdle themselves with a cricketing belt, or with one fastened by a buckle set with precious stones.

The average height of the Siamese men is 5 feet 3 inches, or 3 or 4 inches less than that of the Zimmé Shans. The women seldom exceed 4 feet 9 inches in height. They seemed to me to be a cross between the Khas and the Shans, made more repulsive by a dash of the Malay and Chinese. They have broad, flat, lozenge-shaped faces; high cheek-bones; small bridgeless noses; low foreheads; small, black, pig-eyes; wide mouths; thick, non-protruding lips; a yellowish-brown complexion; and, generally, a sullen expression.

I had been warned before leaving Burmah that Siamese officials are deceitful above all things, and that I must not rely upon a single atom of information I got from them. From personal intercourse, I found that the gentleman who warned me was strictly correct in his judgment. In answer to your questions, they tell you the most plausible lie that trips to their tongue, and if you chance to test their accuracy by reverting to the subject in the same or a future conversation, contradict themselves most flatly. If you trouble yourself to point out the inconsistency of their statements, they are ashamed—but only of not having played their game better.

After a little preliminary conversation, I told the commissioner that Prince Prisdang, the Siamese ambassador in London, had promised about seven months before to write to the King of Siam about my mission, and had written to Mr Colquhoun as follows: “I have no hesitation in informing 115you that any well-digested scheme which has for its object the improvement of the commercial position of Siam, and the consolidation of the kingdom, will receive the attentive consideration of his Majesty and my Government; and that his Majesty will allow all facilities to be given for any purposes of exploration, or of gaining accurate knowledge, by properly qualified persons, of the nature of the country proposed to be traversed by the railway.”

He told me that he had received no instructions whatever on the subject from the king, but no doubt he would receive them in a few days; in the meantime he would gladly do all he could to aid me in my project.

I then asked him to aid me in gathering information about the trade and population of the country, and to give me a letter to the various princes in the district, asking them to aid me to the utmost in their power. This he promised to do, and the conversation became general. When I received the letter, it proved to be so milk-and-watery that it was worse than worthless, and Dr M‘Gilvary advised me to keep it as a curiosity, and not to show it. All his other promises were merely pie-crust—made to be broken.

Just as we were preparing to go, Phra Udon, the senior assistant-commissioner, came bounding in like a clown at a circus, greeting us all boisterously with “How do you all do? So glad you’ve come. All well, I hope?” Then he hurried round from one to the other, and shook hands in an affectionately jovial manner. I had heard about this individual before I came, and was therefore more amused than surprised at his manner. There was no ceremony about him. We were jolly companions every one, and he would be delighted to be the tomfool of the party. It is surprising how such a mountebank could have got even into the Siamese service. From subsequent inquiry, I learnt that he was a native of Ceylon, who, with other monks, had come over to Siam many years ago at the invitation of the king, and who, managing to curry favour at Court, threw off the yellow robe and entered the Government service.

Conversation now passed into a shower of questions from Phra Udon, amid which our answers could barely be 116squeezed edgewise; this moment Siamese, the next English, and every now and then the two combined. After a time, I grew weary of the assumed joviality, and was glad to say good-bye and retreat from the scene.

Our next call was upon Chow Boo-re Rak, the Chow Hoo-a Muang Kyow, or head of the Gem City—a man of fine stature, with a keen eye and intelligent mind. We did not detain him long, because he was hearing cases in his house, but went to see the king’s eldest son by a former marriage, who holds the post of Chow Racha Boot; and afterwards Chow Oo-ta-ra-kan, who, if primogeniture ruled the accession to the throne in the Shan States, would have been King of Zimmé. To prevent disturbances the King of Siam kept Noi Maha Prome, his father and the eldest son of a former king, at Bangkok, until the day of his death.

Having finished our calls we strolled homewards, chatting about the various people we had seen.

The Siamese judge, or commissioner, was appointed under the Anglo-Siamese treaty of 1874, whereby we recognised the control of Siam over the Shan States of Chiengmai, Lakon, and Lampoonchi (Zimmé, Lakon, and Lapoon). This treaty arranged for the policing of the frontier, the extradition of dacoits, and the appointment of Siamese judges at Zimmé. The judges were to decide between British subjects having passports and Siamese subjects; but a proviso was made that in case the British subject did not consent to the jurisdiction of the court, his or her case should be tried by the British consul at Bangkok, or the British officer in the Yoonzaleen district of Lower Burmah.

Previous to this treaty the Siamese authority in the Shan States was confined to the regulation of their foreign affairs and sanctioning the appointments of their elected chiefs, Siam protecting the Shan States of Chiengmai, or Zimmé; Lamphang Lakhon, or Lakon; Lampoonchi, or Lapoon; Muang Nan, or Nan; Muang Phrë, or Peh, or Prai, or Phray (these four States were comprised in the ancient kingdom of Zimmé, and Lakon and Lapoon still look up to Zimmé as their parent State, and in a vague manner are controlled by it); and Luang Prabang, or Hluang Prabang. 117In return for Siam’s protection against foreign invaders, these six States agreed to send triennial tribute to Siam in the form of gold and silver boxes, vases, and jewelled necklaces, together with curious gold and silver trees valued at from £15 to £35 each.

Trade between British Burmah and Siam and its Shan States may be said to date from the Anglo-Siamese treaty of 1855–56. Up to that time Europeans, descendants of Europeans, Burmese, and Peguans from British Burmah, were not allowed to enter the Siamese dominions for purposes of trade, although our native of India subjects were permitted to do so. Siam’s policy was simply that of perfect seclusion from her neighbours.

Next day Chow Oo-boon, accompanied by her eldest son Chow Sook Ka Same and her niece, the only child of the queen, returned our call, and were followed by a long train of attendants bearing silver-handled umbrellas, and gold betel-boxes, water-jars, and cigarette-platters. The son looked thirteen years of age, and the niece about two years younger. The missionaries said the children when grown up would make an excellent match, but they were doubtful whether the queen would consent to the union, as the father of the boy was not of royal blood. They were both very well behaved, and were evidently fond of Dr and Mrs M‘Gilvary. Chow Oo-boon had been the steady friend of the missionaries at Zimmé ever since the Mission had been founded.

This princess was no ordinary person, and her life was a romance. Highly intelligent, and a capital woman of business, a great trader, and the owner of large tracts of land, extensive teak-forests, and numerous elephants, serfs, and slaves, love was yet to her “the summer’s sun, nature gay adorning.” She was very amorously inclined, and during many years had given the queen great anxiety and trouble in controlling her headstrong fancies. Her first husband was the eldest son of the eldest son of a former King of Zimmé, and would have been on the throne had the rule of succession been the same as in Europe. Their only child, a daughter, is married to Chow Sing Kam, the eldest 118son of Chow Racha Boot, and therefore the grandson of the present king.

Since her first widowhood the princess had made several mésalliances with people not of the royal family, much to the annoyance of the queen, who not only refused to acknowledge the marriages, but removed the objects of her affection beyond her reach. At length Chow Oo-boon sought to foil her sister by selecting a wealthy Burmese timber-trader, over whom she thought the queen dare not exercise authority, as he was a British subject. Here she was mistaken. The queen had him apprehended and escorted to the frontier, where he was told that it would be well for him to keep away from Zimmé for the future. Not to be balked, as soon as this Burmese was over the border, she selected another, and began philandering with him.

The queen was now quite out of patience, so one dark night, when the Burman was on his way to the princess’s residence, he was waylaid and clubbed to death. Greatly enraged at this assassination, Chow Oo-boon is said to have done her utmost to have the matter brought to trial by the British authorities, who, however, considered it politic to pass it over. Years had passed since then, the sisters were reconciled, and Chow Oo-boon gave no more cause for anxiety, but expended her love and care upon the education of her children.

After chatting for a little while, the princess invited us to dinner on the following Saturday, March 1st, and said that, as we should be detained waiting for elephants for two, or perhaps three days, she had arranged for two of hers to be at our house the next morning to take us to the pagoda on Loi Soo Tayp; it would be a pleasant excursion for us, and I could get a fine view of the country from the enclosure.

Whilst we were talking, two of her ladies-in-waiting were crouched at her feet ready to hand her cigarettes or her betel-box, whilst others were seated on the staircase near the edge of the verandah, and a few were following the children, who with young M‘Gilvary were racing about the house and enjoying themselves. Before the princess left, I brought 119out some Maltese jewellery, and said I should be much pleased if she would accept it as a present. She admired the filigree-work, and was evidently much gratified, and asked me if I had a sister or a wife, as she would like to have embroidered shirts made for them if I thought they would be pleased with them. I said that my sister would be delighted to accept one, as she was very fond of beautiful things; and Shan embroideries, particularly the specimens seen at her house, were certainly exquisite in their design and workmanship.

When our visitors had gone, Mrs M‘Gilvary told me that the queen as well as the princess frequently visited her, and that her daughter, Mrs Cheek, at their request had made them full suits of European dress, and that they looked very well in them. I should think, however, that their handsome native costumes suit them much better, and it would be a pity to hide their feet in shoes or boots, for, like their hands, they are delicately formed—small and narrow, and decidedly pretty.

Next morning two male elephants with silver trappings, and roofed howdahs with beautifully carved frames, were led up to the verandah for us to mount. Mine was a very large one, measuring fully ten feet from the top of the shoulder to the ground, but rather awkward in its gait, which made it unpleasant to ride; Dr Cushing’s was slightly smaller, and more agreeable for riding. Ease in gait is one of the great considerations when hiring or purchasing an elephant to ride, for there is as much difference in their gait as there is in that of horses. One with pleasant paces and a swift walk always fetches a high price, and should walk fully four miles an hour, or double the pace of an ordinary elephant. Females are very often easier for riding than the males, but it is considered derogatory for a noble to be seen on one.

Having comfortably settled ourselves in our howdahs, with a tin of gingerbread nuts, a Chinese cosey-covered teapot, and an enamelled iron cup and saucer on each of our seats, and our lunch packed away under them, we started, and after crossing the river above the bridge, followed the road which skirts the northern moat of the city. In half an hour we passed the White Elephant Gate, the chief entrance to 120the city; and after traversing rice-fields for about an hour, we reached the foot of the hill, and commenced to ascend the spur by a path which runs between the aqueduct that supplies Zimmé with water, and Huay Kao, the parent stream. The foot of the hill lies four miles from the east end of the bridge.

To the north of the city, immediately bordering the road we had traversed, lay the remains of the ancient city of Kiang Yuen, which has perhaps given rise to the Zimmé Shans being known as Yuen Shans by the Burmese. I had no time to inspect the ruins, but noticed several large temples and pagodas. One of the latter, known as the Chinese pagoda, is peculiar in shape, being formed of five flattened balls of brick masonry, each diminishing at the top, and placed one above the other. It has no umbrella, or htee, at the top, and is said to have been erected by a Chinese general named Utau, when besieging the city some centuries ago.

Some distance beyond the city the road crosses the ramparts and moats of a large fort, which had been erected by the Burmese when they last besieged the city in 1776. This fort is now known as Muang Soon Dok, the town of the flower-garden. To the south of the fort, and between the city and Loi Soo Tayp, are the ruins of Muang La Maing, the ancient capital of the Lawas, of which nothing but the ramparts and ditches remain. It is upon the site of this city that Kun Ngu, the third son of Kun Lung, the chief of Muang Mau, is said to have built his capital. Kun Lung, according to the story of Muang Mau, which was translated by Mr Ney Elias, descended from heaven by a golden ladder into the Shweli valley, near Bhamo, in A.D. 568.

The ascent of the hill as far as the waterfall, which lies about a mile and a half from the foot of the hill, was easy, and from thence onwards the slope became rather steep. The aqueduct takes its water from the Huay Kao just above where the stream plunges over a ledge forming the crest of the fall, and a shelter for many small images that have been placed under it by pious pilgrims. A small temple containing a solitary image of Gaudama has been erected near the head of the fall.

121Continuing the ascent along the bank of the torrent, which rushed, glistening and foaming, down its channel of bare granite rock, at eleven o’clock we reached the rest-houses at the foot of the knoll on whose crest the Mya Sapeet chedi, or pagoda of the Emerald Rice-bowl, is erected. The journey from the east end of the bridge had taken us four and a half hours, the distance being a little over eight miles.

Weary with the incessant rolling and jolting we had suffered from our long-legged, cumbersome beasts, we felt relieved from suffering as we stepped off the elephant’s head on to the verandah railing of one of the rest-houses, and threw ourselves down on the floor for a stretch whilst our breakfast was being prepared.

After our meal we ascended a long flight of steps, bordered by fine large pine-trees, to the enclosure containing the religious buildings. The avenue of pines was most likely planted by the Burmese when they built, repaired, or added to the pagoda in 1760. We found an inscription giving this date for the erection of the pagoda on a board in a corner of one of the buildings. The Shan history of Zimmé gives the date of the pagoda as 1790, but this evidently refers only to further additions or repairs.

The enclosure on the summit of the knoll is square, and surrounded by a roofed shed which faces inwards, and has an entrance-gate in the centre of each side. The pagoda is Burmese in design, about 50 feet high, covered with copper plates heavily gilded, and surrounded by a copper-sheathed iron railing. The pedestals at the four corners of the basement of the pagoda are coated with a glass mosaic of various colours, and facing each side of the pagoda is a temple containing an image of Gaudama. The walls and posts of the temples are richly decorated with designs in gold and vermilion. The platform of the enclosure is 1993 feet above the plain, and 3001 feet above mean sea-level. The summit of Loi Soo Tayp appeared to be about 3000 feet higher than the crest of the knoll.

From the entrances facing the plain, on a clear day the view must be magnificent; but at the time of our visit the hills on the other side of the plain were shrouded in haze, 122and we could only see the country for two or three miles beyond the town. The city and villages were hidden by the foliage, and the whole plain as far as we could see looked one great orchard of palm and fruit-trees, with here and there a narrow slip of rice-plain. Nothing can be more deceptive than travelling through such a country, the great hedges of fruit-trees and clumps of handsome bamboos that fringe the fields continually hiding the extent of the cultivation. In the fringes surrounding the fields, and in the beautiful groves that are scattered about, lie the houses of the villagers, making it simply impossible without a census to arrive, or even make a near guess, at the population.

Seeing one of the Ka-wat, or pagoda slaves, sweeping up some fallen leaves, Dr Cushing asked him to relate the legend of the pagoda, and the origin of its name. In reply, he told us that, long, long ago, a company of Pee, or spirits, brought five of the bowls which are used for begging by the monks, and offered them at the shrine. These were each of different colours—red, yellow, white, blue, and green—cut out of precious gems, and fitted one within the other; the green, or emerald bowl, containing the rest. The pagoda is therefore named “The Pagoda of the Emerald Rice-bowl.” He further assured us that the right name for Loi Soo Tayp was Loi Soo Tee, its name having originated from a white elephant that ascended the mountain, bearing sacred relics, exclaiming as he reached the top, “Soo Tee,” or “the place ends.”

The pagoda slaves are looked upon as outcasts by the remainder of the people, and are either the descendants of pagoda slaves, or have been dedicated to the service of the pagoda by their master on account of the merit accruing to the deed, or have been so dedicated as a punishment for crimes they have committed. Not even a king dare free a pagoda slave; for if he did so, he would after this life infallibly have to descend to the bottom of the most fearful hell. They are not only pagoda slaves and outcasts, but their posterity must remain so during the dispensation of Gaudama Buddha, embracing a period of 5000 years after his death, which is said to have occurred B.C. 543. Pagoda slaves may not be employed in any other work than keeping 123the shrine in order, and are obliged to present tithes of all they produce for the use and maintenance of the pagoda and its monks. On our return the journey took only three hours and a half, as the elephants went quickly down the hill, and were in a hurry to get home for their evening’s feed.

In the evening I besieged Dr M‘Gilvary, endeavouring to persuade him to accompany us to Kiang Hsen. I assured him that the journey should be no expense to his Mission, either for food or for elephants; that he would be of very great use in collecting information from the people; and that it would be delightful both for Dr Cushing and myself to have his company. He said that he was really unable to go with us on that journey, as his year’s supply of boots were on their way from Bangkok, and the ones he had would fall to pieces before he returned. I replied that I had two pairs of Walkingphast’s boots, which were quite new, and I should be so pleased if he would try them on; that they were spare ones; and that I should certainly not need more than one pair besides those I had in use; that his doing so would be an actual relief to me, as I felt that I was carrying about useless baggage. He was very shy of the offer at first; but I succeeded in talking his wife over, and she managed to persuade him not to disappoint us, and that the trip was exactly what his health required. I shall ever remember this good lady and her husband with pleasure, admiration, and gratitude. They were utterly unselfish in all their thoughts and actions, and quite untiring in heaping kindness upon us.

The following days I strolled about the place, and visited several of the Burmese foresters with Loogalay, who had been having a high time amongst them, but found they knew very little about any part of the country except in the regions where they worked their forests. They all lived in large substantial teak-built houses, and appeared to be well off, if one might judge by the liquors and other refreshments they placed on their table.

I learnt from them the Shan and Burmese names of many of the trees, which afterwards enabled me to record them in 124Burmese when only the Shan names were given me. Nothing strikes a traveller in Indo-China more than the extensive knowledge of the flora of the country possessed by the people. Not only can an ordinary villager tell you the names of the various plants and trees that you meet, but also their uses, whether as dyes, drugs, oils, or resins.

On expressing my surprise at there being so many temples and monasteries in the city and neighbourhood, they said that, although many had of late years been repaired by the Shans, nearly all of them had been built by the Burmese when governing the country from A.D. 1564 to 1774.

DINNER AT THE PRINCESS’S—ARRANGEMENTS FOR START COMPLETED—A PASSPORT—OUR PAVILION—THE ZIMMÉ PLAIN—LEAVE ZIMMÉ—CANAL IRRIGATION—HALT AT MUANG DOO—THE CHOWS ASTRAY—CAMP-DINNERS AND COOKERY—EXCELLENT MADRAS SERVANTS—ALTERATION IN JEWAN—COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, AND DIVORCE—KUMLUNG, OR FAMILY PATRIARCH AND PRIEST—PRICE OF SLAVES—SLAVE-BONDAGE—FOREIGN MARRIAGES—SERFDOM IN ZIMMÉ—FORMATION OF CLANS—GOVERNMENT MASTERS IN SIAM—CROWN COMMONERS.

Chow Oo-boon made great preparations for her dinner, which she had served in European style, on a table beautifully decorated with flowers. Mrs M‘Gilvary furnished the crockery, cutlery, and table-linen, and our Madras servants superintended the cookery. Among the guests were the daughters of the queen and princess, three princes, and Phra Udon and Chow Don, the two Siamese assistant-commissioners. Fingers, for the nonce, gave way to knives and forks, and even Phra Udon, the Singhalese buffoon, showed that he could behave himself before ladies.

There was no apparent anxiety on the part of the hostess as to whether or not the dinner would turn out a success. All were affable, courteous, and pleasant, and appeared bent upon adding to the general enjoyment.

The princess informed me that arrangements had been made for our starting early on Monday, as, to prevent further delay, she and some of the princes had agreed to supply us with elephants, and a letter had been signed by the Court calling upon the governors of the various provinces to afford us their aid.

A similar passport issued for one of my later journeys 126was translated for me by Dr M‘Gilvary, and ran as follows: “The Proclamation of Chao Phya San Luang and Chao Phya Saw Lan, and all the officers, old and young, at the Court, to Tow Rat of Chiang Dow (Kiang Dow), and Phya Khenan Phek of Chiang Ngai, and Phya Kuan of Muang Pow, and Phya Soo Ree Ya Yot of Muang Fang, greeting. You are informed that now there has been a Royal Order that Nai Hallett and the teachers M‘Gilvary and Martin, the three Nais and their servants and personal attendants, nineteen persons, twenty-two persons in all, with six elephants and one horse and eight guns, may go to Chiang Hsen, Muang Ngai, Muang Pow, and Muang Fang. When the foreign Nais have arrived and wish to go in any direction at any time, you are ordered to levy good and reliable men that are conversant with the roads, the brooks, and the mountains to escort them, according to the custom of the country, from one city and province to another, to whatever place or village the foreign Nais shall wish to go. Again, if the foreign Nais are in need of provisions of any kind, you are ordered to provide supplies and look after them. Let them not be destitute of anything whatever. This is given by the Royal Order on the thirteenth day of the waxing moon of the eighth month of the year twelve hundred and twenty-six” (7th May 1884).

This passport, as is usual, was scratched with a stile upon a narrow strip of palm-leaf which coils up into a ring and has a stamp embossed on it at each end. This stamp determines the real authority of the document, and is examined before reading the document. These strips of leaves are tough and unaffected by water, and are therefore, for the purpose, superior to paper. When the writing grows dim 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 the dirt so removed.

On Monday, the 3d March, we had everything packed early in the morning, but were delayed until nearly one o’clock before the last elephant came in. We were to be conducted to Kiang Hai by Chow Nan Kyow Wong, the eldest son of Chow Hoo-a Muang Kyow, the fourth of the 127joint rulers of the Zimmé State. Chow Nan Kyow Wong had left the city the night before, accompanied by his six followers and his young son, in order to prepare the first encampment for us. He took with him four large elephants, one of which was loaded with our baggage, and a small one, and eight elephant-drivers and attendants.

The party with me, besides the Chow and his company, comprised forty-one persons—viz., Dr Cushing, Dr M‘Gilvary, two Shan interpreters, three Shan servants, three Madras servants, Moung Loogalay, eight Shan elephant-men, and twenty Shan porters with four large elephants. As a shelter from the night-dews we carried a tent, so capacious and so convenient for carriage that it reminded me of the one in the ‘Arabian Nights’ which would shelter an army and yet could be put in one’s pocket. Ours was formed of a roll of longcloth, 30 feet long and 15 feet wide, that packed into a roll 21 inches long and 7 inches in diameter.

The great Zimmé rice-plain is divided into more or less extensive fields by orchards containing beautiful clumps of bamboos and mango, tamarind, palmyra, cocoa-nut, areca-nut, and other trees; and in these orchards, and in pretty groves scattered about the plain, nestle numerous villages and detached houses. Until the hills are reached the country is one ceaseless succession of orchards and rice-fields, all of which, nearly up to the east bank of the Meh Ping, are irrigated by canals and channels drawing their water from the Meh Hkuang, the river on which the capital city of the Shan State of Lapoon lies.

Starting from the bridge a little before one o’clock, we proceeded in a north-easterly direction, and halted for the night in the fields of Muang Doo, having passed within view of nineteen villages in the seven and a half miles’ march. We were disappointed at finding that the Chow and his son had not passed through the village, and that nothing was known there of his movements. As soon as the elephants were unloaded some of the Shans commenced cutting bamboos for the erection of our pavilion, and before we had finished bathing, it was completed and our dinner was ready.

Our dinner-table consisted of a cane-covered howdahseat 128placed on the top of two wooden spirit-cases set on end and some distance apart. A couple more cases, set one on the other, served as my seat, and my companions were enthroned on their folding camp-chairs. The long arms of my chair, although adding greatly to my comfort, and being handy for writing, prevented it from being drawn up to our improvised table.

The rapidity with which a hot dinner was served by our Madras servants would astonish stay-at-home people. Soup being in tins, takes very little time to cook, as it has only to be heated; bacon takes but a minute or two; and vegetables, curry, chickens, tapioca, and rice-puddings having been prepared and more than half cooked at our last halting-place, are quickly served. But even so, the boys deserved great credit for their readiness and good management.

Whilst the cooking things and things to be cooked were being unloaded, men were despatched in search of water and firewood, and the boys were preparing their fireplace; and however tired they might be after a long tramp, they always prided themselves upon their cookery, and the celerity with which our meals were served. All this they did merrily and with light hearts; and hardly once during the journey, even when they were suffering from frequent attacks of fever, have I seen them out of temper. They knew that we all had our work to do, and they took a pride in doing theirs to the best of their ability.

It was pleasant to watch the continuous improvement in Jewan’s physique. When hired for me by Go Paul, a Madras boy who had been with me for many years, he looked a mere stripling, with legs little better than broomsticks in appearance, and a chest that spoke very little for his capacity for travel. Every day his calves were getting bigger, his chest was expanding, and he seemed to become more vigorous. Travel was certainly rapidly making a man of him.

In the evening Dr M‘Gilvary called up some of the most intelligent of the Shans to give me information about their customs, commencing with courtship and marriage. They told us that a youth was allowed to visit a girl either in private or in the family circle, and that courting-time is 129known as Bŏw ow-ha sow (Bow, a bachelor; ow-ha, to visit; sow, a virgin or maid). A lad, when courting without witnesses, places himself entirely in the power of the girl, as it is the custom to take a woman’s word as conclusive proof of any alleged breach of delicacy, and for such breaches the spirit-fine required by the ancestral spirits of the family can be levied.

The amount of the spirit-fine varies, according to the custom of the family, from a bunch of flowers to nine rupees. Such fines are due, not merely as a solatium for indelicate acts towards the females of the family, but for accidentally coming into contact with them. Even in general company, if a woman is touched to call her attention, and she reports the fact to the kumlung, the patriarch and priest of her family, the fine can be levied. If the girl neglects to report the occurrence at once, and sickness, caused by the anger of the unappeased ancestral spirits, happens subsequently in her family, her word is still taken, and the fine is levied.

The practice of the patriarch or head of the family being the priest, is a survival from ancient times, and was customary amongst Aryan tribes, as is evidenced by the Vedas. Mr Kingsmill, in his ‘Ethnological Sketches from the Dawn of History,’ says that the Djow, or Chau, who founded the first historical empire in China, B.C. 1122, were an Aryan race, and their ruler, “the Djow Wang,” was not so much supreme ruler as supreme priest. He alone could perform sacrifices to the memory of the mystical ancestors of the house. In each State a similar position of affairs was to be noticed. The Emperor of China is the high priest of the State religion as well as the ruler of the empire.

At times a youth serenades a girl alone, accompanying himself upon a peculiarly shaped two-stringed banjo; at other times he is accompanied by the village band. If the lad considers that he has won the lady’s affection, he asks his parents, or the kumlung of his family, to obtain the consent of her relations, and to arrange for the marriage.

If an illegitimate child is born, twenty-four rupees as well as the spirit-fine has to be paid to the kumlung of the girl’s family, and the man must likewise provide a sacrifice of an 130ox, or pig, or fowl, according to the requirement of the spirit of the woman’s family. No other claim can be made on the man, and the woman has to support the child.

According to Dr M‘Gilvary, the custom of levying the spirit-fine is strictly adhered to amongst the nobility as well as amongst the people. As an instance, he told me that on sickness occurring in the palace at Zimmé inquiry is at once made, and if any breach of delicacy has occurred, the male culprit is fined, and the spirits of the royal family are appeased. In case of the act having been a breach of the seventh commandment and the act has been between a serf and a slave of the palace, the man must either pay the spirit-fine and seventy-two rupees, the legal redemption price of the woman, or marry her and become a slave. The culprit, if a noble, is merely mulcted in the spirit-fine required by the spirits of the family, and is free from other charge. In cases of adultery, forty rupees has to be paid to the injured husband, as well as the spirit-fine. If the husband refuses to receive his wife back after her misconduct, he must hand the forty rupees received by him to her family, who must receive her. The Zimmé Shans, as a rule, are a chaste people, and the few soiled doves in Zimmé have flown there from Siam.

The marriage ceremony consists of paying the spirit-fee in the presence of the kumlung of both families, and drawing out an agreement for the payment of the ngeun kŭn soo, the sum a man has to forfeit if he divorces his wife. Both women and men amongst the Shans can divorce each other at will; but divorces without ample cause are looked upon with disapproval by the people, and the ease with which the marriage-tie can be broken has not led to experimental marriages as it did amongst the ancient Romans. If a woman divorces her husband, she has first to purchase the soo-han, or right of divorce, which seldom costs more than fourteen rupees; and in case of a divorce, the children pertain to the woman, except in the case where the husband is a slave, when the master has a right to one male child, or, in the absence of male children, to one of the other sex.

In the case of a woman marrying a slave, the master has 131a right to one male child, or, if there is no male, a daughter. If the slave of one man marries the slave of another, it is the custom for the master of the wife to purchase the husband. If the husband’s master refuses to part with him he can claim his freedom.

The judicial price of a man slave is fifty-four rupees, and of a female slave seventy-two rupees. Amongst the warlike races of the hills the opposite rules, the value of the male being greater than that of the female; but in the Shan States, where the woman does most of the work, the woman is decidedly as a worker worth more than the man.

In cases of debt, a man can either pay the debt, the interest of the debt, or serve his creditor in lieu of the interest. It is optional for a man to serve or pay the interest, unless a special agreement has been made. If a man owes more than he, his family, and possessions are worth, or having sufficient, will not pay, the creditor informs the court, which enforces the claim by putting the debtor in chains until the debt and court fees are paid. Men often linger out their existence in slave-bondage.

Any person may settle in and cultivate land in the Shan States that is not already under cultivation, and does not become a serf to the chiefs unless he marries a woman of the State; and even then he can remain free, with his wife, and any family that may be born to them, if he pays seventy-two rupees for her redemption. Unless this redemption money is paid, no woman is allowed to remove from the country.

All the Zimmé Shans, except the nobles, are serfs, but have the right to change their allegiance from one lord to another. This right is a great check against oppression, as the more serfs a prince has, the more powerful he is, and the more chance he has of becoming the future king of the State. On his marriage a male serf changes his allegiance to the lord of his wife’s parents, and resides near the wife’s family. Thus in the old days clans were formed, patriarchs became chiefs, and relations serfs. Captives likewise strengthened the community, for although they themselves were treated as slaves, their descendants would in time merge into the body 132of serfs. Slaves taken as wives must tend to influence the breed of the people, otherwise it is difficult to account for the difference in type between the Burmese Shans and the Siamese.

In Siam the right of changing their lord has been taken away from the people, the majority of whom are classed as prai-luangs, or Crown commoners, and all of whom, outside the Chinese and subjects of foreign Powers, are serfs of the Government, and are placed in classified gangs under grinding Government masters. A prai-luang must either serve for a month thrice in a year, or pay an exemption tax of ten dollars and eighty cents each year. The hardship and oppression that accrue to the people under this rule is thus referred to by the Rev. S. J. Smith in the preface to his translation of the Siamese ‘Laws on Slavery’:—

“The present system of requiring annually the personal services of the common people, without reward or provision for food and home during service or exposure, making them the helpless victims of the too often merciless, heartless, and exorbitant exactions of unscrupulous and tyrannical Government masters, is a crying evil that demands beneficent legislation.”

PAYING FOR SUPPLIES—LAND AND TEAK-FORESTS BELONG TO CHIEFS—LAND RENT—LIGHT TAXATION—LEAVE MUANG DOO—UPPER MEH HKUANG—ASCEND A PLATEAU—A SURPRISE—LUONG HKORT—THE MEH HKORT—PASS BETWEEN THE DRAINAGE OF THE MEH PING AND MEH KONG—PRECAUTION AGAINST DEMONS—SHANS WILL NOT TRAVEL ALONE—A SCARE FOR TIGERS—HEAD-DRESSING AND TATTOOING OF ZIMMÉ SHANS—CHARMS LET IN THE FLESH—A QUIET RACE—VILLAGERS RESPONSIBLE FOR LOSS AND CRIME IN NEIGHBOURHOOD—MUST NOT LEAVE VILLAGE WITHOUT PERMISSION—SURVEYING UNDER DIFFICULTIES—THE LITTLE ELEPHANT’S FUN—THE MEH WUNG AND MEH PING—A VAST PLAIN DEPOPULATED—TIMIDITY OF ELEPHANTS—RESIDENCE FOR DEMONS—REACH VIANG PA POW.

The next day we waited in vain for the Chows, and for another elephant with the things that we had left behind. I whiled away the time by sketching one of the houses and the hills to the east of the plain, and in taking observations for the daily curve of the aneroid readings, and for temperature. The house was thatched with leaves of the eng tree, and the thatching was continued under the south gable-end and over part of the verandah platform. In the garden was a pond with a good many ducks on it, and one of the usual granaries, which are roofed, and formed of large barrel-shaped bamboo baskets, well raised from the ground, and plastered over to keep out rats, mice, and insects.

During the afternoon I was much amused by watching Dr Cushing, who appeared to be both puzzled and annoyed. We had made it a rule to pay for everything that we received from the people, and the Chow Phya, or judge, who accompanied us, had ordered the head-man of the village to bring in the usual provisions of rice, chickens, and ducks 134that are presented to officers when travelling through a district. There they were all at the Doctor’s feet; but how could he pay for them? The rice had been collected in cupfuls, a cup from each house. No coin was small enough to pay for a cupful, and it would be absurd, if not impossible, to attempt to pay for it. Then the fowls and ducks were unaccompanied by their owners, and if he gave the money to the head-man, that functionary would have simply pocketed it, and the villagers would have been still unpaid. Here was a fix. We required the poultry, and must have the rice. At last he settled it with his conscience by accepting the rice as a present, and sending the head-man back to fetch the owners of the birds. Whether the right men were paid or not, even then, was a source of perplexity to him. This little scene was reacted at nearly every village we halted at throughout the journey, and the qualms of our consciences were eased at the cost of much worry, and at the expense of our being considered fools by the Shan officials, who could not understand our objection to preying on the people, and our departing from the customs of the land.

The whole country belongs nominally to the five supreme chiefs, who form the Government. These grant certain districts 135to other princes and nobles, who receive a bucket of rice for every bucket that is planted by the people, as land-tax or rent for the land occupied by them. The teak-forests give a large revenue to the chiefs. Taxation is light, and, outside the monopolies on pigs, spirits, and opium, is made up chiefly of not very burdensome import and export duties. From all I could learn, the people were much better off and infinitely better treated than the people in Siam.

Early the next day, the elephant with the remainder of our baggage arrived from Zimmé, and I received a letter telling me that Dr Paul Neis, of the French navy, who had been surveying the country to the north and east of Luang Prabang, had arrived at Zimmé viâ Kiang Hai. We soon afterwards heard that the two Chows were camped about five miles ahead, waiting for us, and we therefore determined to start.

Leaving Muang Doo at half-past ten, we followed the Meh Kok, a canal 30 feet broad and 4 feet deep, to the village of Tone Kow Tau, and soon afterwards left the rice-plain and entered a pass, with the crests of the hills half a mile distant on either side of us. Through this short gap the Meh Hkuang flows on its way to join the Meh Ping. After leaving the pass, we crossed a bend of the river, which is here 80 feet wide and 7 feet deep, and halted on its banks, close to the camp of the Chows. The prince appeared very glad to see us, and said that the mistake through which we had not met earlier had arisen from our having started from Zimmé in the afternoon instead of in the morning.

After a good night’s rest, we were awakened by the shrill cry of peacocks, which seemed to be challenging each other from all directions, and by half-past seven had everything packed and had left the camp. We were in high glee at again being under way, and felt like schoolboys off for a holiday. The morning was simply delightful, the air was delicious, and although most of the trees were leafless, the temperature at starting was only 55°. Turning northwards, we followed the Meh Kang, a stream 30 feet wide and 6 feet deep, to the village of Ban Hai, and shortly afterwards 136crossed it, and commenced to ascend, amidst outcrops of traprock, the steep slope of Loi Pa Chāu.

The ascent, although only 500 feet, was tedious, and took us an hour and a half, as the elephants had to crawl up, resting after every footfall, before they raised their huge bodies up for another step. The slope was clad with teak-trees, and the village at the crest of the ascent is known as Ban Pa Sak, the village of the teak-forest. This village and its surroundings was a great surprise for us—like what the Giant’s country must have been to Jack after mounting his bean-stalk. What we had taken for an ordinary unoccupied range of hills when we were crossing the Zimmé plain, was an extensive undulating plateau; and here on its very edge was a village, beautifully situated amid gardens of palms and fruit-trees, with a pleasant little brook of icy-cold water meandering through it from some springs near at hand. The village is 251½ miles from Hlineboay, and 1820 feet above the sea.

After crossing the plateau, we descended along the Meh Ka Lah to the Meh Hkort, and halted for the night at the village of Luong Hkort, which is situated in a broad part of the valley. A small monastery, temple, and pagoda adorn the crest of a low flat-topped spur, about a mile to the north-east of the village.

Leaving a little before seven the next morning, and turning east, we ascended the narrow valley of the Meh Hkort, and the following morning reached the crest of the pass. The incline of the valley had been easy throughout, and the deep shade of the forest had made the journey from Luong Hkort very pleasant.

The water-parting which separates the streams draining into the Meh Ping from those flowing to the Meh Kong, was 276 miles from Hlineboay and 4235 feet above the sea. The rise in the fifteen miles from the village had been 2656 feet. This was the highest point reached by me upon any of my journeys. The thermometer at 10.15 A.M. read 71°, or 9° less than it had been at the same time at Muang Doo.

Following the Meh Chay Dee down-stream, we reached a 137halting-space, and found the place so pretty and the flowers of the bauhinea-trees in its neighbourhood so fragrant, that we settled to spend the next day, Sunday, there. We had descended 1003 feet in six miles from the crest of the pass, and I was astonished to find teak-trees interspersed through the forest at a height of 3089 feet above the sea.

I noticed that the elephant-drivers placed ta-lay-ows, or small pieces of lattice-work, on tall sticks stuck in the ground, on the paths leading to and from the camp; and on inquiry, I learned that they were intended to entangle any evil spirits that might wish to injure our party. The Shans consider such precautions fully sufficient to ward off their malignant foes. The spirits, in their opinion, have as little intelligence as the birds of the air, and any scarecrow device will keep them at a distance. You cannot send a man alone even with a letter, because a Zimmé Shan will not travel without a companion; and on our asking the reason, we were told that ill would certainly come to the man who drew the water if he likewise made the fire. It gave one quite an eerie feeling to be with a people who believed the land to be full

Another device that one notices at the cattle-camps is an array of pegs rising about eighteen inches from the ground, joined together by a creeper, or a cane if it be handy, and enclosing the space within which the cattle are tethered. The people believe that tigers, trying to steal into the camp, come with their breasts against the cane, and finding it yield, retreat for fear that it may be a trap. Travellers shun camps that have been used for cattle, as they are generally infested with gadflies and other disagreeable insects.

The Zimmé Shans, unlike the British Shans, do not wear a chignon, nor twine a silk handkerchief round their head, 138but have their hair dressed either in the ancient or modern Siamese styles. The modern style much resembles the European fashion; the ancient style consists in shaving the sides and back of the head, and merely leaving a tuft like a clothes-brush at the crown. Their bodies are tattooed from the waist downwards, sometimes as far as the ankle. This custom does not now extend either to the Siamese or to the Lao Shans, who occupy Luang Prabang and the portion of the Meh Kong valley that lies to the south of it, although tattooing is known to have been general among their ancestors in the country to the north and south of the Yangtsze Kiang long before our era commenced. It is not unlikely that the Burmese acquired the habit from the Shans. The tattooing generally consists of figures of birds and beasts and mythical monsters, including dragons and ogres. Men who prize the reputation of being dare-devils have charms in the form of cabalistic signs, arrangements of numbers and words, contained in squares tattooed in red on their chest, back, and arms.

The tattooing instrument is a single split needle set in a heavy brass socket. Having filled the needle with a preparation of indigo, the operator pricks the pattern by a series of small punctures into the skin. Vermilion is used when tattooing the upper part of the body.

Some dacoits let in talismans under the flesh, and precious stones are carried about in the same manner. The talismans are mystical incantations inscribed on gold, silver, lead, pebbles, pieces of tortoise-shell, or even horn. It is not at all uncommon to meet a Shan with several knobs on his chest, concealing the talismans that he has inserted as charms to render him proof against bullet and sword. There is perhaps not a man in the country who does not carry about with him one or more charms; some string them like beads and wear them as necklaces.

As a rule, the Zimmé Shans are a very quiet and tractable people, and have a strong sense of what is just and right. Very few crimes occur among them: this may be partly due to the people not being allowed to leave their neighbourhood without the permission of their local head-men, 139and to villagers being held responsible for any loss or crime that may occur in their district, unless they can prove that the loss was accidental, or can trace the crime to the culprit.

Having enjoyed our Sunday’s rest, we left early the next morning, and continued skirting, and frequently crossing, the stream. The deep forest through which we passed was scented by the fragrance of bauhinea-blossoms, and decked with the flowers of the pinleh kathyt and poukbin. The covering of my howdah was soon nearly destroyed by the bamboo-bushes, which in places had partly overgrown the path. The mahouts were lopping off the overhanging branches and sprays that were likely to interfere with the howdahs; the elephants were tugging down saplings and crushing them under foot; and I had to be constantly on the alert to guard against the spear-points of the lopped bamboos that pierced through the roof and threatened to poke out my eyes. Surveying the constant twists of the path under such circumstances is both difficult and dangerous.

The valley became wider as we proceeded, and little plains from 400 to 800 feet across were of frequent occurrence. The procession of elephants frequently closed up, owing to our having to cut our way, and I was able to see the pranks the little elephant accompanying the prince played with the men: he was making little rushes and hustling them over, and at times giving a sudden lurch as he trotted by them, which, unless they were ready and nimble, had the same effect. Every one was laughing at each other’s discomfiture, and Ramasawmy, Dr Cushing’s boy, was crowning Portow’s great straw hat, unbeknown to him, with a garland of leaves.

The granite boulders ceased near the 288th mile, where pine-trees still crowned the low spurs on either side of us. Shortly afterwards we passed a caravan of thirty-one laden cattle. Soon great glades appeared in the forest, which gradually assumed a park-like appearance, and it became apparent that we were on a great rolling and formerly cultivated plain which extended as far as the eye could reach. Through 140the vast plateau now spread before us, the Meh Low, flowing north, passes on its way to the Meh Kong, and to the east of it the Meh Wung, flowing south, proceeds to join the Meh Ping. The dip to the Meh Low was not perceptible, and the rise in the plateau dividing that river from the Meh Wung seemed one with that which we were descending. Loi Mun Moo, the range to the east of the Meh Wung, was 18 miles distant, and not perceptible, being hidden by the haze. The water-parting between the two rivers, I found on a subsequent journey, was only 2148 feet above the sea, or 181 feet lower than the camp we had breakfasted at.

The plain had evidently been at one time under cultivation, as very few trees had been left standing: the population had doubtless been swept away in the wars of last century, and was still too sparse to cultivate one-twentieth of the splendid plain. The scrub-jungle and grass on the slope of the high plateau to the north-west was in a blaze as we turned to the north and approached it; the elephants began trumpeting with fear, and we were forced to make a slight detour in order to prevent them from becoming panic-stricken. Elephants, although immense in size, are very timid, and easily startled. We had to take them off the path and turn their heads away into the jungles whenever we heard the tinkling bells of an approaching caravan; and they will turn tail and run at the sight of any audacious little dog that thinks fit to bark at them. I have been told that their eyes slightly magnify objects, and they imagine the little dogs are much larger than they really are. This may be so, but one requires to be very cautious in accepting such statements from gentlemen who, on meeting a stranger, are glad to take him in.

141Near the 295th mile I entered the rice-fields of Ban Fuee Hai, and after crossing the Meh Low, 30 feet broad, 8 feet deep, with 1½ foot of water, halted near Viang Pa Pow to sketch the hills in which the Meh Wung takes its rise. We camped for the night at three rest-houses lying to the north-west of the palisade and moat of the city. Another rest-house in palisaded grounds at the south-west of the city has been set apart for the residence of the local demons, and their offerings are frequently made to appease them and keep them in good temper. Our camp was 300¼ miles from Hlineboay, and 1721 feet above the sea.

A CHINESE FORTIFICATION—CHINESE ARMY DESTROYED BY FAMINE—VIANG PA POW—KIANG TUNG LAWAS—WITCH VILLAGES—AN INTELLIGENT PRINCE—BEST DIRECTION FOR RAILWAY—PURCHASE AN OX FOR FOOD—AN ANCIENT LAKE—LEAVE PA POW—UPPER GORGE OF THE MEH LOW—KIANG TUNG LAWAS A JUNG TRIBE, AND DISTINCT FROM BAU LAWAS—BURMESE SHANS—CATTLE WITH NOSE-BAGS AND MASKS—EFFECT OF SOIL ON FOLIAGE—SURPRISES IN THE JUNGLE—TEMPLE AT BAU MEH PIK—OFFERINGS TO DECEASED ANCESTORS—THE VALLEY OF THE MEH SOOAY A GAME-PRESERVE—INDICATIONS OF GOLD—ROAD TO VIANG POW—LOWER GORGE OF THE MEH LOW—PORTOW, THE LITTLE ELEPHANT’S PLAYMATE—LOI KOOK—LOI CHANG SHANS RETURNING FROM FRONTIER DUTY—UNWARRANTABLE ACTION OF CHINESE GENERAL—KIANG HUNG SHANS BURMESE SUBJECTS IN 1886—REMOVAL OF CAPITAL—KIANG HUNG ANNEXED BY BRITISH IN 1888—SHANS DREAD ENTERING DESERTED TEMPLES—DECEASED MONKS CLASSED AS DEMONS—WORSHIPPING DECEASED MONKS—SUICIDE OF A PRINCESS AND TWO OF HER MAIDS—SOUSED BY AN ELEPHANT—COURTESY OF THE CHOW HONA OF KIANG HAI—AN IMMENSE PLAIN.

Viang Pa Pow—the City of the Croton Forest—is a Viang Hau or Yunnan-Chinese city, which was fortified and stockaded by the Chinese when they sent four armies to attack Burmah (A.D. 1765–69), and was unoccupied when M‘Leod passed it in 1837. The Chinese forces are said to have been much harassed by the Lawas and other hill tribes, and being entirely cut off from their supplies, had to kill their ponies for food, and ultimately to retreat. Famine proved their chief enemy, and very few lived to reach Yunnan.

The city is surrounded by a double moat and an inner rampart, the latter palisaded on the top with teak-logs 143standing 12 feet high from the ground. It is 1700 feet long, 1073 feet broad, and contains seventy houses. The muang, or district, has 322 houses scattered amongst the Shan villages, and about 2250 Shan inhabitants. The valley of the Meh Low is, however, chiefly occupied by the Kiang Tung Lawas, whose houses are far more numerous than those of the Shans. These Lawa gain their livelihood by cultivating rice, cotton, sugar-cane, and indigo, and by mining iron, and making muskets, dahs, spears, ploughs, chains, and other articles. We passed by many of their villages between the city and Ban Meh Pik, and later on between Kiang Hai and Muang Hpan.

The Shan villages in the Muang have been set apart for the habitation of reputed wizards and witches. These people have the choice of settling here or in Muang Ngai, Muang Pai, and in Kiang Hsen—all of which regions are deficient in population. Dr M‘Gilvary told me that many of the people accused of witchcraft are so foolish as actually to believe in the truth of the accusation, and that there is more superstition and consequent fear, hatred, and malice in the witch villages than elsewhere in the country.

Soon after camping I had a visit from Chow Chaum Muang, a first cousin of the Queen of Zimmé, the most intelligent native met by me during my journeys. With the aid of a box of matches, he took great pains in explaining to me the general features and lie of the country. He said there was no range of hills between Viang Pa Pow and the valley of the Meh Wung, and that the best direction for the railway from Raheng would be from Kiang Hsen viâ Kiang Hai, Muang Hpan, Penyow, Ngow, and Lakon. As he arranged the matches according to the lie of the hills and streams, I sketched the plan on paper. I found his information extremely correct. The Shan nobles are certainly much more truthful and reliable than the governors and officials in Siam, who pride themselves upon their duplicity, and do as little as they can to aid a visitor to their country, and all they can to deceive him.

Early the next morning our Chow ordered in a fresh supply of rice, ducks, and fowls, and asked us if we would like 144to purchase an ox for food. Of course we gladly consented, and handed him the money. The owner seemed loath to part with the animal, and we more than fancied that the prince had taken heavy toll of the money before it passed from his hands. Anyhow, all of our party had a pleasant addition to our diet for some days. Most of the meat was subsequently smoked and jerked, and therefore kept well.

North-east of the city, about five miles distant, Loi Mok—a range of hills twenty miles long—commences. In this range the Meh Wung takes its rise, and we are about to skirt these hills until we leave the Meh Low for Kiang Hai. The range forms the eastern flank of an ancient lake-basin, which is now drained by the Meh Low. The basin in which Muang Pa Pow lies was formerly severed from the lake by Loi Pa Tyoo, and apparently forms part of the previous drainage-area of a former lake on the Meh Wung.

We had to wait till 1 P.M. for ten fresh coolies and two elephants to replace the twenty coolies we had brought from Zimmé. When these arrived, we left the camp and proceeded due north down the valley of the Meh Low. After passing through the rice-fields of three Shan villages, great spurs from the ranges on either side began to close in; and at the 303d mile we entered the forest, and soon afterwards crossed a flat-topped spur about 70 feet high which proceeded from Loi Mok.

A mile farther we crossed a bend of the Meh Low where the stream was 80 feet wide, 6 feet deep, and had 1 foot of water, and entered the gorge where the river had broken through the hills. Here we met a large company of Kiang Tung Lawas returning from fishing, and carrying fishing-nets which were weighted at the bottom with chains. The women, young and old, were bare to the waist, and the men were dressed, like our Zimmé Shan followers, in garments of cotton dyed with indigo.

There could be no mistaking this race for the Bau Lawa: like the La-hu, whom I met in Kiang Hai, they are akin in language to the Lolo tribes of the Jung race in Yunnan. This is evidenced by comparing the Lolo vocabularies given by Mr Bourne in the report of his journey in South-western 145China (Blue-book, China, No. 1 of 1888) with the vocabularies given by me in the account of my exploration.

For the next three miles we were amongst the hills. Great spurs covered with teak and other valuable trees sloped up from the river, in whose bed shales and flagstones cropped up. The grass and scrub-jungle on some of the spurs was on fire, and my elephant, from fear, was playing a scale sounding like one played on a child’s tin trumpet, and by no means resembling the ordinary roar of the beast. After crossing two bends of the river, we reached the Kiang Tung Lawa village of Ban Ta Kau, which is situated beyond the gorge, and halted for the night.

After dinner we called up the head-men of the village, and took their vocabulary. To show the utter difference between their language and that of the Bau Lawas, I may mention that fire, water, fish, and pig in Bau Lawa are—ngau, raowm, ka, and layt; whilst in Kiang Tung Lawa they are—bee, hlang, laung-teh, and wa. The Lawas said that nearly every year some of their kinsmen from the neighbourhood of Kiang Tung paid them a visit, and that their forefathers were immigrants from the north, and not natives of the Zimmé State. These people have not such pronounced oval faces as the Lolos in Ssuchuan (although probably of the same race) or the La-hu near Kiang Hai, and at first sight I took them for Burmese Shans. They have, however, better developed noses than the Shans, and some of their women might be taken for handsome gipsies.

Next day we started before the morning mist had been dissipated, and passed through the fields of Ban Pa Bong. The spurs on either side of us were rapidly retreating, and we were now well into the old lake-basin. At the village the plain was three miles broad, and it quickly expanded to six and seven miles, the hills on either side being frequently lost in the haze. The small trees and bushes were spangled with the large pale-blue flowers of a creeper; and white convolvulus, jessamine, and the yellow blossoms of a vine-leaved creeper were frequently seen.

Near Pa Bong we met fifty-three laden cattle, accompanied by a party of Burmese Shans wearing blue trousers and 146jackets, and great straw hats atop of the silk handkerchiefs which were twined round their top-knots. All the oxen wore nose-bags made of rattan-cane, to prevent them from browsing by the way; and the leaders wore a mask in front of their faces, fancifully worked with cowrie-shells, and topped by a beautiful peacock’s tail. This, of course, was to make the animals hideous, in order to frighten the demons away. Besides the ordinary brass sleigh-bells that are hung round the necks of the oxen, a large bell was suspended from a frame above the leader’s head. The bells are useful for letting the elephant-drivers and other caravans know of their approach, and to enable the caravan-men to track the animals when they are grazing at a halting-place.

The morning was pleasant, and the country very beautiful, and made even more so by the mist rising and falling as it lifted from the plain and was swept from the valleys by the morning breeze. The great variety of trees in the portions of the plain that were not under cultivation, and the constant recurrence of trees out of and in leaf, was a source of continual surprise. The same class of trees were in full leaf in one place where the soil was rich, and had dropped their leaves at a place close by where the soil indicated a laterite formation.

The elephants amused themselves as they went along by showering down bamboo seeds upon the men as they passed among the clumps, and seemed not to care at all for the mahout’s whip with the lump of lead attached to the end of its thong. The climate in the basin of the Meh Low being moister than in the Zimmé plain, the verdure is more luxuriant. I noticed a bamboo 60 feet high growing without soil, rooted in the arm of a tree four feet above the ground.

At times, on stretching my neck out of the howdah in order to get a further glimpse of something we had passed, I would see a group of white-turbaned Shans squatting in a bamboo bower, looking, in their great peaked hats and their blankets wrapped round them, like gnomes in the Black Forest. Here would be a party of villagers who had scuttled out of sight as they heard us approach. There a 147group of porters, with their burdens by their side, chatting and resting in the shade. In a jungle-clad country, nothing could be easier than to surprise an enemy.

After passing several Lawa villages we reached the large Shan village of Meh Pik, or the Pepper river, and halted for ten minutes to visit a temple, which was handsomely decorated with gold-leaf and vermilion, and occupied by a very ugly image of Gaudama, about which stood many smaller and less hideous images. The offerings, which consisted of flowers, food, dolls’ houses, and toy elephants and ponies, were indications of what the votaries wished forwarded to the spirits of their deceased relations and friends. Written instructions frequently accompany such emblems, stating for whom they are intended, and at the tag end the writer curses any one that steals them, and hopes that that individual may be punished in the four hells.

Leaving the village we entered a large grazing-plain, in which many buffaloes with their usual attendants, white paddy-birds and mynahs, were feeding in the plain, crossed the Meh Low and the large rice-plain of Ban Pong, and halted for the night on the bank of the Meh Soo-ay, near the large village of the same name, which is situated 323½ miles from Hlineboay and 1566 feet above the sea. Ban Meh Soo-ay is the headquarters of the governor of this district, who called on us as soon as he heard of our arrival. He told me that the valley of the Meh Soo-ay is the private game-preserve of the King of Zimmé, and that no one is allowed to hunt there, or even enter the valley without the royal permission. It is therefore uninhabited, except by deer, tiger, rhinoceros, elephant, wild cattle, and other large game. From slate and quartz being the only pebbles in the stream-bed, it is not at all unlikely that gold may exist in the hills stretching into this valley, as it does in the same geological formation in other parts of the Shan States.

From the village of Meh Pik, which we had passed, he said a path led westward across the hills to Viang Pow, which was reached by caravans in three days. The descent on the Viang Pow side of the hills was very gradual, but part of the ascent from the Meh Low side was difficult. 148His village contained sixty houses, but he could not tell, without referring to his books, the number in the other villages under his jurisdiction. In the village I noticed peach-trees, the first I had seen.

The next day we left early, and a mile and a half from our camp entered the gorge through which the Meh Low escapes between the spurs from Loi Kook Loi Chang on the west and Loi Mok on the east. These two ranges form the north and east flanks of the old lake-basin, which is now drained by the Meh Low. For five miles, spurs from either side occasionally approached near the stream, which we had frequently to cross in order to shorten our route, as the river is very serpentine in its course. Whilst passing through this gorge, Ramasawmy was playing “God bless the Prince of Wales” on a reed flute; and the little elephant was taking every chance he could to hustle the men over as they crossed the river, and souse them with water from his trunk. If there is truth in transmigration of souls, that little rogue must have been a monkey in a 149former existence, and had not lost his zest for malicious pranks.

Portow, who had an overweening opinion of his own dignity, and was bent on setting up as an oracle, was unfortunately not only the butt of the boys, but likewise the sport of the baby-elephant. Many a time have I seen him hustled over by the youngster, who seemed to have picked him out as his playmate. Slily and softly stealing up behind, he would suddenly increase his pace, and with a quick shuffle or a sudden lurch shoulder him sprawling to the ground. Portow during this part of the journey behaved like a hunted or haunted man, ever looking behind to see whether the dreadful infant was near.

The large spurs on our left were called Loi Pa Kuang, the hill of the deer-forest; Loi Wung Ngoo, the hill of the snake pool: between which rose Huay Pak Chang, the brook of the elephant’s mouth; and Loi Kee-Wo Hay, the hill where the cattle scatter their dung, so called because the cattle caravans that cross it on their way by a short cut to Kiang Hai, are much distressed whilst ascending its steep sides. There were several plains in the gorge, the spurs being at times half a mile and a mile apart.

At the 330th mile, the river, then 1500 feet above sea-level, takes a sudden bend to the east, and passing betwixt an isolated hill and the last spur from Loi Mok, enters the Kiang Hai plain. At the end of the spur is the small village of Ban Tsen Tau, and in front of the isolated hill were three deserted houses in old patches of cultivation, which had been occupied by witches on their way to settle at Kiang Hsen. After leaving the river, we commenced crossing the small spurs which stretch into the Kiang Hai plain from Loi Kook Loi Chang, and halted for the night at a pretty mountain-stream, the Huay Wai, the brook of bamboos. Shortly after our arrival we met 200 Shans on their way back to Zimmé from Kiang Hsen, carrying their things on light bamboo shoulder-trestles, somewhat similar in shape to the frames of the pack-saddles used for caravan cattle and mules. The men rest the trestle first on one shoulder, and when tired on the other. The Shans were 150returning from doing frontier duty; some disturbance having arisen in the Burmese Shan States to the north.

These disturbances are alluded to by Mr Bourne of our Chinese Consular Service in his report (Blue-book, China, No. 1, 1888), where he notes that when at Ssumao in January 1886, he heard that “in 1884 the Chinese asserted their authority through Ma Chung, the General at Puerh, in a rather questionable manner, by the removal of the Hsuan-wei Ssu, and also of the officer (Patsung) of the Liu-kun district.” The Hsuan-wei Ssu is the chief of Kiang Hung, and the district named is the one nearest to Ssumao belonging to Kiang Hung.

On Mr Bourne sending his writer “to visit a Burmese temple (Mien Ssu) situated four miles south of Ssumao, and forming part of a castle belonging to the Liu-kun Tu-ssu, ... 151they (the priests) described themselves as Burmese subjects, but said they bore a heavy yoke, having to pay taxes both to Ssumao (the Chinese frontier-post) and to Che-Li (the Chinese name for Kiang Hung). My writer, who has been in Burmah, described the castle as quite Burmese in construction.”

The fact that the Shans within four miles of Ssumao considered themselves to be subject to Burmah in January 1886, a year after we had annexed that country, is most important. It thus becomes evident that the “Upper Burmah Notification, No. 75, of 1888,” by which “all of the territories east of the Salween river which on the 27th November 1885 owed allegiance directly or indirectly to the King of Burmah” are included in our dominions, includes the portion of the Burmese Shan States that lies to the east as well as to the west of the Meh Kong river, and therefore the whole of the country through which the Burmah-Siam-China Railway will run from Kiang Hsen right up to the Chinese frontier-post at Ssumao. If we had not annexed the Shan States of Kiang Tung and Kiang Hung, they would inevitably have fallen sooner or later to the French, and our only practicable road for a British railway to China would have been foolishly relinquished, together with the trade of the people of Western China.

152When talking about the temple we had visited at Ban Meh Pik, Dr M‘Gilvary told me that the Shans are afraid to visit a deserted temple, for the reason that the images of Gaudama are inhabited by Pee Soo-a Wat, the spirits of deceased Buddhist monks, who are the protecting spirits of the temple. If neglected, having nothing to live on, they become savage, and sit like Giant Despair, gnawing their nails; being thenceforth classed amongst demons, or malignant spirits. If a temple is not totally abandoned, and offerings are made to only one image by a worshipper, the envious spirit of another is apt to avenge himself by startling the votary; and should the person afterwards become ill, or should accident or other misfortune happen to him, the image is thenceforth regarded by the people as the embodiment of a malign spirit. Ancestral spirits and those of a family clan, if not worshipped and fed every three years, likewise become malignant in their inclinations.

When an abbot, celebrated for his learning and virtue, dies, it is the custom for those who have spent their monastic life under his instruction, to prepare a shrine for him in some part of their house, or, if still in the monastery, in their dormitory, where flowers and food are placed for the acceptance of the spirit of their deceased teacher. If he is treated with neglect or disrespect, he may become a spirit of evil towards his former pupils. Apparitions may be caused by good or evil spirits.

With reference to his having told me that the Shans were a romantic people, Dr M‘Gilvary said that suicide amongst them was by no means unusual. If a man considered that he had been slighted or ill-used in any way, he was apt to brood over the fact, and work himself into a state—when he would take his own life. Only a year or two ago one of the princesses being crossed in love, hung herself from a branch of a tree; and two of her maids, finding her suspended, in sorrowful despair at having lost their sweet mistress, sought to accompany her in death by dangling from the same branch.

153Starting early the next morning, we crossed a few low spurs and then descended to the great plain of Kiang Hai. As we passed near the first village, my elephant, which had taken a trunkful of water at the last brook, made a bad shot, and sent it flying over me and my survey-book. This feat made Portow, who was walking by the elephant to translate for me, nearly die of laughter; his sense of fun for once becoming greater than his sense of his own dignity. We halted for the night at the large village of Don Chi. The villages in the neighbourhood belonged to three Kwangs, or sub-districts, and contained 600 houses. In one of the villages I noticed several papaw-trees in the orchards. The juice of the fruit of this tree renders any tough meat tender, and has been successfully employed in the removal of the false membrane in diphtheria.

We put up for the night in the hunting residence of the Chow Hona, or second chief, of Kiang Hai, who arrived in the evening, but courteously insisting that we should remain, put up elsewhere. From the large plain near the village we could see Loi Poo-ay eleven miles to the east, stretching away to the south, and giving rise to the small hillocks that separate the sources of the Meh Low from those of the Meh Ing; and to the west were Loi Kook Loi Chang, and some smaller hills on the south of the Meh Khoke.

PRINCES IN THEIR BEST CLOTHES—A PROCESSION—REACH KIANG HAI—DILAPIDATED HOUSES—THE MEH KHOKE—NGIOS FROM MONÉ—KIANG HAI—FORMER SIAMESE CAPITAL—EARLY HISTORY OF SIAM—VISIT THE CHIEF—POPULATION—RUINED CITIES—ARRANGEMENT BETWEEN BRITISH SHANS AND SIAMESE SHANS—RECENT ENCROACHMENT OF SIAMESE—NAME ENTERED AS BENEFACTOR IN ROYAL ANNALS—VISIT FROM LA-HU—OVAL FACES—KNOWN BY THEIR PETTICOATS—MONOSYLLABIC LANGUAGES DIFFICULT TO TRANSLATE—LA-HU A LOLO TRIBE—COMPARISON OF VOCABULARIES.

The following morning I noticed that Chow Nan and his son had cast their travelling attire, and were gorgeously arrayed, looking like gay butterflies. The prince was resplendent in a new red silk panung, a blue jacket with gold buttons, and, for the first time since we left Zimmé, in shoes and white stockings. His son, similarly shod, was adorned with a green satin jacket and a yellow silk panung.

Dr Cushing with the help of the Chow, who had set his heart upon entering Kiang Hai in state, marshalled the procession. Ten armed men led the way, and were followed by the prince’s elephant, some attendants, Dr Cushing’s elephant, some attendants, Dr M‘Gilvary’s elephant, some attendants, my elephant, five loaded elephants and the baby-elephant, and a long train of servants, porters, and elephant grooms. I could not help laughing as we went along, as we appeared so like a travelling circus advertising itself in a provincial town.

Leaving the Chow Hona’s house at half-past six, we marched through the plain, passing several laterite hillocks, and crossing one to avoid a swamp—and skirting five villages, 155until at the village of Sun Kong we came in sight of the crenelated walls of Kiang Hai. Thence we traversed the graveyard of the governors of the city, and shortly afterwards that of the abbots of the monasteries, entered and crossed the city, and halted at the rest-house lying between it and the Meh Khoke. The rest-house is situated 352¼ miles from Hlineboay, and 1320 feet above the sea.

One of the tomb pillars in the cemetery of the governors was six feet in height, and had a pyramidal cap ending in a flame-like ornament. For one foot from the ground the pillar was six feet square. Five steps, or offsets, occurred in the next foot in height, reducing the sides of the square for the following foot to four feet; then three offsets, together measuring three and a half inches in height, supported a cap five feet square, upon which the pyramid rose in offsets of two inches. In front of the pillar was an altar, on which flowers and vegetable-wax tapers had been freshly laid.

The rest-house in which we put up was in a very leaky condition, owing to the thatch not having been renewed, and to the devastation wrought in the leaves and rafters by the bamboo-beetles. The Chow’s rest-house, which was next to ours, was in a still worse condition, as many of the floor planks and girders were rotten, and the floor was thus a succession of man-traps. This was soon remedied, for as soon as the Chow Hluang heard of our arrival he despatched men with new bamboos and thatch to render our habitations more secure and comfortable.

Kiang Hai, whose Pali name is Pantoowadi, is picturesquely situated on the south bank of the Meh Khoke. From the crest of the small hillocks near the city, when the air is free from haze, the eye can range 20 miles westward up the river valley; 18 miles eastward to Loi Tone Yang; the same distance to the south, or farther if there was anything high enough to see; and to the north as far as the low hillocks, 15 miles distant, which divide the Kiang Hsen plain from the valley of the Meh Khoke.

A series of low laterite hillocks spring up from the plain to the west of the city. This plain, and that to the north 156of the river, is inundated in places for a depth of two feet in the rains for eight and nine days at a time. Two of the hillocks serve as portions of the ramparts on the north and west sides of the city.

The river rises in a plateau two days’ journey to the south-west of Kiang Tung, and its sources are separated from the Kiang Tung plain, which is 2500 feet above the sea, by Loi Kum, the Loi Peh Muang which divides the Kiang Tung State from that of Moné, a State lying to the west of the Salween.

The Meh Sim, which enters the Salween, rises near the sources of the Meh Khoke; and the head of the pass, crossed by Dr Cushing in 1870, between Kiang Tung and the head-waters of the Meh Sim, is 6500 feet above the sea, or 4000 feet above the Kiang Tung plain.

At the sources of the Meh Khoke, according to some Ngio Shans whom I interrogated, is the district of Muang Khon, which comprises several villages. Two days farther from Kiang Tung, down the Meh Khoke, is Muang Khoke, from which the river takes its name. Six days from Kiang Tung, still down the river, lies Muang Sat, or Muang Hsat, and a day farther Muang Khine and Wang Hung. Still lower down is Muang Tat Pow, then Muang Nyon and Ta Taung. The latter is distant four days by water from Kiang Hai, and five or six miles above the entrance of the Meh Fang into the Meh Khoke. The above Muangs, or provincial States, are situated in extensive plains, and Muang Sat has frequently formed the base of Burmese operations against Siam. As Muang Sat has been incorporated by us in the dominions of the chief of Muang Pan, one of our Shan States lying to the west of the Salween, it will be seen that we have already carried our protection over the hills which divide the waters of the Salween from those of the Meh Kong into the valley of the Meh Khoke.

Above Ta Taung the valley of the Meh Khoke lies in the British Shan States. From thence eastwards, half-way to Kiang Hai, the Meh Khoke forms the Anglo-Siamese boundary; the frontier then turns in a north-eastern direction to the Meh Kong, which it reaches a few miles above Kiang 157Hsen. To the east of Loi Peh Muang^[3] the people are known to the Zimmé Shans as Tai Ngio, and pertain to the Shan States west of the Salween. The chief of Moné had rebelled against the Burmese in 1882, and taken refuge with the chief of Kiang Tung: this may account for so many Ngios having recently occupied the deserted country lying to the north of Kiang Hsen. The chief of Moné has since been reappointed to his State by the British.

The Meh Khoke at the ford above the rest-houses is 600 feet broad, but narrows to 350 feet just below the town. At the time of our visit it was 13 feet deep from the top of the banks, and had 3 feet of water in the channel. Loi Pong Pra Bat, the hill of Buddha’s footprint, the southern extremity of Loi Peh Muang, ends about nine miles to the north of the city.

Kiang Hai, which is called Chieng Rai by the Siamese, like all Shan cities is neatly laid out, and the roads are straight, ditched, and neatly kept. The gardens of the houses are palisaded with bamboos, pointed at the top, and have strong teak entrance-gates, which are closed at night. Water is led into the town from a neighbouring stream by an aqueduct entering near the western gate. There are twelve entrances into the city, eight of which are larger than the others. The Siamese, or Chau Tai, claim Kiang Hai (Chieng Rai) as their early capital.

158After breakfast we went into the city to call on the Chow Hluang, who was an old acquaintance of Drs M‘Gilvary and Cushing. He resided in a large temporary house built of bamboo and thatched, whilst a large teak-house was being erected for him on the site of the house of a witch that had been burnt after the ejectment of the family in 1870.

The chief—whose head was shaved in the ancient Shan style in South-eastern China, still practised amongst the Lau Yuen or Lao in the Meh Kong valley and by a few Ping Shans, which leaves only a cock’s-comb of hair—received us without his jacket, bare to the waist. He was about sixty-five years of age, and most courteous in his manner; and, like the other chiefs we called upon, did all he could to assist us and give me the best information in his power.

In answer to my questions, he said that there were 300 houses in the town and 1700 in the district, making 2000 in all. On an average the houses contained seven inhabitants. This seems to be the usual number throughout the Zimmé States. He gave us a great deal of information about the country, said that the river was full of weeds near its exit to the Meh Kong, and that the land for some distance above its mouth was inundated during the rains.

The country abounded in ruined cities, and must have been very populous at one time, but the wars at the end of last century and at the beginning of this had left it very destitute of inhabitants; and those who had not been killed had partly fled to Mokmai and Moné, Shan States, to the west of the Salween; while the rest had been taken captive to Zimmé, Lakon, Lapoon, and Nan.

The Burmese Shans had endeavoured to occupy Kiang Hsen in 1873, but Zimmé remonstrated with them, and sent 500 men to prevent them from settling there.

An arrangement had since been made, in 1881, under which the Ngio, or Moné Shans, built their large villages about the Meh Khum, and the Zimmé Shans were allowed to occupy Kiang Hsen, and the plain to the south of the Upper (British) Shan villages. As the Zimmé Shans have since encroached, and built a fort to the north of the Ngio villages, disturbances are certain to occur unless we insist upon the Siamese 159retiring within their proper boundary. The fort is simply a provocation to the Ngio Shans.

The wife of the chief, a very homely lady, made kind inquiries after Dr Cushing’s wife, who was with him on his former journey, and said that she had often thought of them since they had left. On my presenting the chief with a watch, he was so gratified that he called for the royal annals and recorded my name in them, together with the fact of my being the donor of it. The chief was full of the late visit of Dr Paul Neis, and expressed his amusement and surprise that a European should wander about the country in native garb and accustom himself to native habits.

When we got back to our house, we found a group of La-hu (called by the Shans Mu-hseu or Moo-sur) squatting near the steps, and evidently much interested in our surroundings and the cooking of our Madras boys. The men, besides the ordinary Burmese Shan trousers, and jackets with loose sleeves, dyed with indigo, wore black turbans twisted about their hair, which was done up in a knot on the top of the back of their head. Their faces were a distinct oval, like that of their kinsfolk the Lolos of Ssuchuan and Yunnan. Their eyes were well opened, but had a slight tendency to the Mongoloid droop of the inner corner of the eyelid, but less than amongst the average Chinese.

The La-hu women were dressed in a petticoat, and a blue spencer folded across the chest, with tight sleeves reaching to the wrist. Like the men, they wore a black turban, one end of which hung down behind over their chignon. Their hair was drawn back from the face, in the Burmese fashion, but the chignon was placed higher up on the back of the head. Their forehead was higher than it was broad, their cheek-bones high, their nose and mouth well formed, the nose slightly expanding at the nostrils, and their face was a decided oval. Thin silver hoops, about three inches in diameter, hung from the lobe of each ear, and round their necks they wore finely plaited cane necklaces.

The clan to which the hill tribes belong is generally denoted by the pattern of the petticoat of the women. It may therefore be as well, for the information of future 160travellers, to describe that of the La-hu. The upper portion of the petticoat is worked with horizontal red stripes, having interwoven lines of gold-thread; then comes an inch of plain red, followed by an inch and a half of blue, one inch of red, four inches of black, two and a half inches of blue, and a turning of a quarter of an inch of red at the bottom. Both men and women carried tobacco-pipes made of the root and part of the stem of a bamboo. One of the men had some Shan writing and numbers tattooed in vermilion on his arm as a charm. None of the others were tattooed.

The La-hu had very active figures, well set up, and, like all mountaineers, great freedom in their gait. There was not the slightest sign of timidity or shyness about them; the women were even more at ease than the men, did most of the talking, and were evidently the cocks of the walk. All came up into the sala as soon as they were invited, and at once squatted round us, like children round a Christmas-tree, bent on seeing and handling everything, and joyously receiving anything that might be presented. It was amusing to watch the signs of curiosity and eagerness in their eyes, as I showed them the bead necklaces and other trifles that they would receive after giving me their vocabulary and the information I required.

They all understood Shan as well as their own language; but even so, these monosyllabic languages have so many 161tones and inflections, that great caution and care have to be taken when translating, to prevent all chance of error. Professor Forchhamer gives an instance of this in the Shan word kan, which, although written with only two letters, k and n, “is capable of conveying sixteen totally distinct meanings, according as the vowel is pronounced with the high, low, middle, or rising tone; with teeth and lips either widely or but slightly opened; with full or restrained expiration of breath.” Luckily, I had with me two exceedingly capable and careful Shan scholars, Drs Cushing and M‘Gilvary; and even then we had at times the greatest trouble to agree upon the true sound that was uttered in a strange language; many of the consonants might be taken for one or another, as the sound was strangely between the two—W running into V, H into R, L into D, aspirates into non-aspirates, and single consonants into double ones. How the men and women did laugh as they tried to put us right by pronouncing a word dozens of times over. To see Dr Cushing leaning over, with his hand up to imply the request for perfect silence, and then eagerly become as if all ear for the sound of the word, was better than a play. I was of little use, except in taking the letters down whilst they were being haggled over by my two companions, and stating the words and sentences I wished to be translated.

To show that the La-hu are a Lolo tribe, I will compare a few of the words in the La-hu vocabulary with words taken by Mr Bourne from the Lolo tribes in Yunnan. In Lolo, father, fire, foot, gold, hand, head, iron, and moon, are ha-pa, um-to and mi, t’u chieh, shi, la, ê-ku, shu, la-pa; in La-hu they are, nga-pa, am-mee, keu-sheh, shee, la-sheh, o-ku, shō, ha-pa. The resemblances would be still greater if the same person had taken down the two vocabularies—as mee and mi, chieh and sheh, am and um, and perhaps other syllables, would have been similar.

Having given us their vocabulary, the La-hu said good-bye, as they wanted to return home; took up their presents, smilingly accepted the rupee offered to each of them, and promised to return the next day. More could be got out of us, and perhaps out of them, in two visits than in one.

A STATE VISIT FROM CHIEF—INSIGNIA OF OFFICE—PLENTIFUL RAINFALL—RAIN-CLOUDS FROM THE NORTH—ONLY SILVER COINS—INDIAN MONEY—FRONTIER DUES—FERRY TOLL—FISHING AS A LIVELIHOOD—SALT AND COWRIES AS SMALL CHANGE—TRICKS WITH THE CURRENCY IN SIAM—ROBBING THE POOR—A FOOTPRINT OF BUDDH—A MONK SPOILT BY THE LADIES—RUINED TEMPLES STREWN WITH BRONZE IMAGES—CARL BOCK’S LOOT—THE EMERALD BUDDH—A TATTOOED LAOS SHAN—MADRAS BOYS TAKEN FOR OGRES—MARCHING IN SINGLE FILE—SCENE AT THE FORD—CHEAP PROVISIONS—CHINESE CARAVANS—COST OF CARRIAGE—OPINION OF DR CHEEK AS TO THE PROSPECTS FOR A BURMAH-CHINA RAILWAY—POPULATION OF SIAMESE SHAN STATES—PROTECTION OF CARAVAN—BIRDS AND MONKEYS DYING OF GRIEF—SECOND VISIT FROM THE LA-HU—MARRIAGE CUSTOMS—DIVORCE—GOLD IN THE KIANG TUNG LAWA COUNTRY—FISHING BY TORCHLIGHT.

In the afternoon the Chow Hluang came in state to return our visit. He was dressed in a pith helmet, a plum-coloured silk panung, a white cotton jacket with gold buttons, a white sash round his waist, and sandals which he kicked off at the door. He was accompanied by a train of followers holding a large umbrella over him and bearing some of the insignia of his office. The full list of these is given in the chronicle of the governors as follows: Two gold cup-stands, two gold boxes with conical covers, a gold stand for a water-goblet, a gold utensil for siri-leaf, which is chewed with betel-nut, a gold box for lip-salve, a gold-handled sword and scabbard, a silver coronet set with rubies, two helmets and sets of weapons, as well as two elephants.

He told me that the people of Kiang Hai never suffered from drought; the rainfall was plentiful, greatly exceeding 163that of Zimmé and Lakon, and the rain-clouds came from the north, not from the south-west as in Burmah. On expressing my surprise, Dr M‘Gilvary informed me that the statement was correct, for he had often noticed the fact in Zimmé. This of course would account for Kiang Hai and Kiang Hsen being much more favoured with rain than Lakon, Zimmé, and Lapoon, which lie to the south of the great hills forming the water-parting of the Meh Ping and the Meh Kong. Tea grows wild on the hills to the north of the Meh Khoke, and is cultivated by the hill tribes.

He said that no copper coins were in use in the city, and that the coinage consisted of Indian rupees, and two and four anna bits. The smaller coins are scarce, and are used for buttons and other ornaments. Small purchases are made by barter.

The frontier-duty station is at Muang Doo, a village to the north of the Meh Khoke, where 3 rupees are levied on every ten laden porters, 4 annas on a laden ox, 3 annas on an unladen ox, and 8 annas on a laden pony or mule. Two ponies in every ten are allowed to pass free. Similar frontier import duties are levied in the Siamese Shan States of Lakon, Lapoon, Peh, and Nan. No frontier duties exist in the Burmese Shan States.

At the ferry over the Meh Khoke, near Kiang Hai, a toll is taken which covers the ferry hire, but is charged whether the animals are ferried across or wade the river. The toll amounts to 4 annas for a laden mule, pony, or ox, and 2 annas for a laden porter. No other duties or tolls are levied in the Zimmé State from people entering it from the north.

The only other taxes raised in Kiang Hai are upon the sale of animals. Both the buyer and seller of an elephant have to pay 5 rupees; the purchaser of a buffalo, 8 annas; of cattle, 4 annas; and of a pony, 8 annas. The land-tax goes to the feudal lord, and may be considered as land rent. Comparing it with the tax of one-fourth of the produce, which by the Code of Menu should go to the king, this tax is very light, being only one basket of paddy for each basket that is sown. The out-turn in the Zimmé States varies from 40-fold to 250-fold the amount sown.

164The people of Kiang Hai gain their livelihood chiefly by catching and drying fish, which are very plentiful in the streams and lakes. They export the fish to Zimmé, Ngow, Lakon, and Lapoon, in exchange for areca-nuts, cloth, salt, and other necessaries. English salt from Bangkok sells at Kiang Hai for 16 rupees a sen (266⅔ lb.), or about a penny a pound. Salt from Muang Nan fetches only 14 rupees for the same weight. The salt-mines in Muang Nan are situated in the hills above the capital, at Muang Mang, Bau Soo-ek, Bau Hsow, and Bau Wa.

Dr M‘Gilvary said that up to 1874 salt was used as currency for purchases in the Zimmé market; and that up to 1865, bee-a, or cowries, were in use in Siam: the value of these were so small that from 800 to 1500 went to a fuang (7½ cents). The cowries were imported from Bombay.

The late King of Siam determined to stop the use of cowries as currency, and floated a token money of lead. As he could place what value he liked upon the lead coins, he resolved that 64 large stamped pieces, or 128 small stamped pieces, should go to a tical of silver, although the lead in them would cost less than half that amount. At the same time he issued a new flat silver tical (60 cents), a trifle less heavy than the bullet-shaped ticals that had been issued in the previous reign.

The monetary transaction in lead would bring 100 per cent profit to his treasury, and likewise—which he does not seem to have counted on—to the treasury of any one who thought fit to forge the coins. For some time the Government made a splendid profit, but soon domestic and foreign forgers filled the market with their bogus issue. A great panic ensued among the people: the lead pieces were generally refused, and the Government had to stop coining them.

Before the collapse of the lead coinage, the king determined further to replenish his treasury by another device. He issued copper coins, two of which were to be valued at a fuang (7½ cents), and to weigh together a trifle over half an ounce. To ensure their being taken by the people, he declared cowries to be no longer current. As he did not 165call the cowries in, and exchange them for the lead or copper coins, they became worthless to their possessors.

This was a sad stroke of fortune for the poor people, but worse was to come. When the present King of Siam came to the throne, finding that forgery of the debased coinage was naturally prevalent, he reduced the currency value of the old lead coins by declaring 40 of them equal to a fuang, or 320 to a tical,—considerably less than the actual value of the lead contained in them. The copper pieces he reduced in value to 8 for a fuang, or to a fourth of the value that they had been issued at. The people thus lost the gross value of their cowries, and were robbed of half the value of their lead coins, and three-fourths the value of their copper ones.

The only parallel that I can find for such vexatious proceedings on the part of a Government, is that of Turkey, which repudiated its paper currency in 1877–79, and in the latter year demonetised its debased coinage. But Turkey had the excuse that it had become bankrupt in 1875. It is well for the Siamese Shan States that their currency is that of British India and not that of Siam, or the people would have suffered with the Siamese. The only Siamese currency seen by me to the north of Kampheng Phet were copper coins used for small change.

After the chief had gone, we strolled about the ruins in the city. The chief of these are at Wat Pa Sing, and Wat Ngam Muang, “the beautiful temple of the city.” In the former was a Pra Bat, or footprint of Gaudama, 6½ feet long, 3 feet broad, and 4 inches deep, impressed on a stone slab, and heavily gilded; a Chinese image of Buddha; one of Maha Ka Sat; besides the ordinary images.

Maha Ka Sat, if one may judge from his likenesses, must have been a very Falstaff in the flesh. Portow accounted for his plumpness, by telling us that this individual, although very religiously disposed, was so handsome, that when he put on the yellow robe and became a monk, all the women doted on him; and as the monks and nanes with their pupils went round in the morning collecting food for the day, they piled up all the tit-bits into his bowl. From 166over-indulgence he grew enormously fat, and lost all chance of becoming a Buddh in his next existence.

The ruins both within and without the city were strewn with valuable bronze images. The people objected to these being taken away, as they contained the spirits of deceased monks, who would certainly wreak vengeance on them if their domiciles were removed from the sacred precincts. All of the trouble experienced by Carl Bock in the Zimmé States arose from his robbing the ruined temples of their images, and snapping his fingers in the faces of the chiefs and people when they remonstrated with him. How he escaped from the country with his plunder, and why he was not murdered, is an enigma to me.

On the north end of a hillock which protrudes from the north-west corner of the city, where the old palace was situated, and near the river, are the walled grounds of a temple and pagoda, trimly kept, and in good repair. From these grounds the view of the country to the north and west is superb: the great spurs of Loi Pong Pra Bat in the distance look like isolated mountains, the spurs rising considerably higher than the crest of the range linking them together. This peculiar arrangement is noticeable in all the great hill-ranges that I saw in the Shan States, the spurs seeming to have been carved out of a great uneven plateau. Between the great spurs and the river several low hillocks, seemingly the remains of a low-lying plateau, are seen, and amongst these the river winds its way amidst limestone bluffs.

167In A.D. 1436 one of the pagodas in the city was rent by lightning, and the celebrated “Emerald Buddh,” cut out of green jasper, was exposed in the shrine in its breast. This image is now enthroned under a seven-tiered white umbrella in Wat Pra Kao, at Bangkok. When discovered it was removed to Zimmé, then being rebuilt after its destruction by the Siamese in 1430. Afterwards it was removed to Vieng Chang, probably early in the sixteenth century, when the successor of the Laos king who ruled at Zimmé moved the capital to Vieng Chang; and ultimately to Bangkok in 1779, two years after the Siamese had made Vieng Chang a province of their empire.

The Lao, with heads shaven with the exception of a blacking-brush tuft at the top, have an absurd resemblance to the wooden monkeys on a draw-stick, formerly sold in the Lowther Arcade. One seen at Kiang Hai was decorated with a peculiar form of tattooing consisting of a mass of blue dots free from any design, with the exception of ornamental edging along the waist and below the knees. This style of tattooing may be a specimen of an ancient type once current amongst the eastern branch of the Shans. At a little distance it resembles a pair of knee-breeches. I have never seen it elsewhere, except in the case of one of the princes of Muang Nan.

The next morning I watched the people streaming over the ford on their way to market, and was amused to see the terror expressed in the faces of the women as they passed our sala, and were horrified at the sight of our Madras boys. Group after group screamed with fright, and scurried by as fast as they could go. Those who looked back were further scared by the hideous grimaces the three scamps made at them. The women must have taken the boys for yaks, or ogres: they had evidently never seen black men before.

It is the habit of every one in the Shan States to proceed in single file, and the same rule is followed by the elephants and caravan animals. For some time in the early morning the procession of people and animals on their way to the city was continuous. Gaily dressed Burmese Shans, carrying their shoulder-bamboos, passed by, and were often accompanied by their women, who were dressed in beautiful embroidered skirts, loose blue spencers, and steeple-crowned broad-brimmed hats of plaited straw, or else of palm-leaf, similar to those worn by the men, and separated 169from the crown of their head by a pad, and fastened under the chin by a string. Then would come a string of fisher men and women from the great staked fishing-dam that has been erected across the river a little above the ford. These would be followed by market-women, long caravans of laden oxen, mules, and ponies; and lastly, by some elephants. The market-women, having just crossed the ford, were short-kilted, and, as is usual with the Zimmé Shans, the unmarried women were guiltless of clothing above the waist.

170The prices in the market would make the mouths of our stay-at-home people water: large fowls, twopence each; large ducks, fourpence; rice, three pounds a penny; fresh fish, a halfpenny a pound; and sugar, a penny a pound.

A company of Yunnan Chinese with a caravan of twenty-six ponies camped close to our rest-house. The head-man told me that they had brought with them silk thread, straw hats, and copper pans, and had come from Nah Hseh (Yunnan Fu). Altogether, they would be six months absent, but two months of that time would be spent in selling their goods, in purchasing salt, betel-nut, &c., for sale and barter amongst the Karens, and in bartering for and purchasing the cotton they intended to carry back with them. The journey from Kiang Hai to Yunnan Fu takes them six weeks.

The cotton costs them 5 rupees a muen (25 lb.), and fetches 20 rupees at Yunnan Fu. The cost of carriage, including collection for each muen, is therefore 15 rupees, or (with exchange at sixteen pence for a rupee) £89, 12s. a ton. Assuming Lakon as the centre of their collecting ground, the average distance a ton would have to be conveyed to Yunnan Fu if carried by railway, would be 665 miles; and the cost for the journey, at a penny a mile, would be £2, 15s. 5d., or—if we allow £9, 12s. a ton for the cost of collection, and £80 as the present cost of carriage—nearly twenty-nine times as cheap as the cost by caravan.

Dr Cheek, a son-in-law of Dr M‘Gilvary, who was for some years stationed at Zimmé as medical officer attached to the American Presbyterian Mission, interested himself in collecting information concerning the country, and caravan traffic. In a book termed ‘Siam and Laos,’ recently published by the American Presbyterian Mission Board, he 171states, in an article written before I explored the country, that—

“Sir Arthur Phayre represents the Laos (Shan) ‘traders as industrious, energetic, possessing a marvellous capacity for travelling as petty merchants, and longing for free trade.’ My own knowledge, after a residence of several years in Cheung Mai (Zimmé), 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 Zimmé 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 been found along the river (Meh Ping) after heavy rains, and petroleum has also been discovered.

“The importance of Zimmé 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 (Zimmé Shan) country.

“To one who is aware of the extent of the trade that exists and has been carried on for many generations between Zimmé and Yunnan, and of the ready access to Zimmé 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 Zimmé clearly demonstrates 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.

172“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 it 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 makes this journey from Tali in Yunnan, viâ Kiang Hung and Kiang Tung, to Zimmé, is a sufficient indication of the safety of the route. A caravan of sixty mules will ordinarily carry merchandise to the value of 12,000 to 15,000 dollars, occasionally a larger amount. Most of the Yunnan traders who come to Zimmé come from the neighbourhood of Tali.”

Such is the opinion of an exceptionally intelligent and scientific observer, who has traversed the Zimmé States in various directions, has studied the capabilities of the country, and has lived amongst the people for many years. In another place he gives the population as follows: “The entire population of the five Laos (Siamese Shan) provinces tributary to Siam is estimated at about 2,000,000;” and he states that “a recent census of the houses throughout the province of Cheung Mai (Zimmé) gave the number of 97,000, and the census was not at that time (the time Dr Cheek saw it) complete; the population of the entire province is not under 600,000.”^[4]

Another Chinese caravan, consisting of eleven men with thirty-seven laden mules, passed by without stopping, on their way to Maulmain. The head-man told me that a bundle of the straw hats contained 120; that he had purchased them for 250 rupees in China; and had sold some for 450 rupees a bundle in Kiang Tung. The best kinds cost from 280 to 290 rupees, and fetch 500 rupees. The hats are two feet in diameter, with a six-inch peaked dome for the top-knot of the hair. The price includes the oilskin covers. Only the head-man was armed. He carried two 173horse-pistols and a trident. Their only other protection was a savage Tartar dog.

A crane, four feet three inches high, known to the Burmese as a Jo-Jah, slate-coloured, with a red band round the top of its long neck reaching to its eyes, was a fund of amusement to the boys, as it was quite tame, and boldly foraged amongst them for any scraps that they chose to fling it. These birds are seldom seen except in couples. The Burmese say that it is cruel to kill one, unless you likewise slay the other, for the remaining bird would become brokenhearted and pine away. I should not be surprised if this were so, for when living in Maulmain I had an instance under my own observation of an animal starving itself to death after losing its companion. I generally had some birds and other animals—parrots, paroquets, lemurs, tigercats, monkeys, &c.—about the house, which had been brought in from the jungle; amongst these was a gibbon, and a small long-tailed monkey that used to sleep at night cuddled up in the gibbon’s arms. The little monkey fell ill and died; the gibbon was inconsolable, refused food and water, and followed its companion in two or three days.

After breakfast the La-hu who had visited us the previous day came according to their promise, and brought with them two of their children, who were as fearless as their parents, and gladly accepted and ate the biscuits and jam that we gave them, although they had never been accustomed to such luxuries. The jam was especially appreciated; the men and women tasting some from their finger, smacking their lips after it, and then letting the children finish it up. They were evidently delighted with the upshot of their former interview, and sat beaming round us in a half-circle, waiting to be questioned.

Their villages near Kiang Hai were Ban Meh Sang Noi, Ban Meh Sang Hluang, Ban Meh Kong, Ban Huay Sang, and Ban Poo Hong, containing in all fifty-six houses. In the Kiang Tung hills their villages were numerous, and contained on an average ninety houses. Many La-hu villages existed in the hills between Kiang Hai and Kiang Tung. Their weapons are bows and poisoned arrows. Their 174cultivation consists of glutinous rice, tobacco, cotton, and chillies; and as they cultivate more than they need, they barter the balance with the Shans for any articles they require.

I then inquired about their marriage customs, and learnt that a young man, after gaining the permission of his ladylove, seeks her parents’ consent. If they are agreeable to his suit, they request the patriarchs of the village to marry the couple. On the appointed day the youth brings a present of tea and torches, and, sitting by the side of the girl, offers the present to the patriarchs, whilst he and his intended make obeisance with their hands uplifted and pressed together.

The youth is then asked whether he intends to perform all the duties of a husband towards the maiden, and on his answering in the affirmative, the elders give them their blessing. Afterwards the people assemble, and sit down at a banquet provided at the expense of the youth, where rice-spirit is poured out like water, and which includes various kinds of meat, amongst which are rats and mice, but not dogs, cats, or snakes; and, ‘mid women and wine, mirth and laughter, all goes right merrily.

After the marriage feast is concluded, the couple reside in the house of the wife’s parents for two years, and then for the same period in that of the husband’s parents. If they are childless, they continue at the latter abode. A La-hu may only have one wife at a time.

Divorce on either side is at will, but must be accompanied by a payment of 40 rupees to the divorced party. The sons become the property of the man, and the daughters belong to the woman. The goods are divided equally, but two-thirds of the money and one-third of the clothing go to the man; and the remainder of the money and clothing, as well as the house, to the woman. Even if the wife is an adulteress, the husband must leave as soon as the division and settlements are made.

According to the La-hu, the chief seat of their race is on the east of the Salween river, about 30 days’ journey north-west 175of Kiang Tung, where their chief town, Koo-lie Muang Kha, is situated at the head of the Meh Kha, a river which empties into the Salween.

In connection with the existence of gold to the east of the Salween, they told me that at Nong Sen, a place in the Lawa country to the north of Koo-lie Muang Kha, there was a very great quantity, but the people who live near the Nong (lake) dare not touch it for fear lest the Pee, or guardian spirit, of the locality should destroy them. Thirty Shans once persuaded a Lawa to guide them to the lake, under the promise that they would not remove any of the gold. On reaching it the Shans, under pretence of bathing, took off their clothes, and, whilst bathing, grubbed up the gold and swallowed as much as they could hold, and thus carried it away. One of them swallowed fully 30 rupees’ weight, and others even more.

In the history of the Shan empire of Mung Mau, which has been translated by Mr Ney Elias, is shown the tribute payable to Mung Mau (a Shan State on the Shweli river that enters the Irrawaddi below Bhamo) by its tributary States about the close of the thirteenth century of our era, which likewise betokens wealth of gold in the country to the north of Kiang Hai. Monyin had to send a yearly tribute of a million horses (a large number is probably meant); La-mung (La-Maing, the ancient city of Zimmé), 300 elephants; Yung-Lung or Muang Yong (the Burmese Shan State to the east of the Salween to the north of Kiang Hsen, which most likely included Kiang Hsen and the rest of the Burmese Shan States lying to the east of the river), a quantity of gold; Muang Kula, or Kalei, water from the Chindwin; and Ava (which then included the ruby-mine district), 2 viss (6⅔ lb.) of rubies. The history of Loi Htong likewise refers to gold nuggets being found in the country.

The La-hu bury their dead in a coffin, and place the clothes of the deceased, together with food, on the top of the grave, so that the ghost may not trouble them for neglecting it.

In the evening, and in fact every night during our stay, men and women were fishing together in lines by torchlight. The light of the torches attracts the fish, and brings them blindly dashing into the nets. Many were using drop-nets; others, cane baskets. Dr M‘Gilvary told me that the men were very cautious not to chance coming into contact with the women whilst fishing, for should one chance even to tread on a woman’s foot in the water, and sickness subsequently occur in her family, the ailment would be traced by a spirit-doctor to that act, and a fine would at once he levied upon the man by the Kumlung, or elder, of the woman’s family.

LEAVE KIANG HAI—A HOT SPRING—ELEPHANTS WITHOUT TUSKS—ELEPHANT-DRIVING—DANGER WHEN DRIVER IS CARELESS—A LARGE RICE-PLAIN—BARGAINING WITH THE ABBOT AT MUANG DOO—BLOODTHIRSTY FLIES—ELEPHANTS AS TOOL-USERS—INHOSPITABLE ANCESTRAL SPIRITS—GAME PLENTIFUL—UTTERANCES OF TIGERS—A MAGNIFICENT FOREST—A STINK-WOOD—WATER-PARTING BETWEEN THE KIANG HAI AND KIANG HSEN PLAINS—BRAVE BUTTERFLIES—A FIELD FOR AN ENTOMOLOGIST—PSYCHE IN BURMAH—A CENTRAL ASIAN BELIEF—THREE SACRED HILLS—BUDDHA AND CONFUCIUS—LEGEND OF LOI HTONG—VALLEY OF THE MEH CHAN—PASS TO MUANG FANG—KIANG HSEN PLAIN—SIAMESE AGGRESSION—DESERTED CITIES OF MANOLA—TIGERS—ATTACK ON KIANG HSEN IN 1794—WILD ANIMALS—LEGEND OF MUANG NŎNG—THUNDERSTORM—FLOODED COUNTRY—LEANING PAGODA—REACH KIANG HSEN.

On the morning of the 18th of March we said good-bye to Chow Nan and his son, and accompanied by the large crane as far as the ford, set off again on our journey. After crossing the river we struck north, and continued through low ground to the fields of Pan Pa Teun, the village of the eng forest, inhabited by witches who have been banished from other places. Near the village is a ruined pagoda; and from thence onward teak-trees are scattered through the forest. At 356 miles we crossed the Nong Ko Kheh, or lake of the Chinese bridge, and halted for breakfast. The lake is merely a straggling swamp, about 50 feet broad and 3 feet deep, which serves as a breeding-ground for fish. While the boys were getting breakfast I sketched Loi Pong Pra Bat, the hill of the hot spring from Buddha’s footprint.

The large male elephant I was riding had no tusks, and was called by the driver Ko-dau, which I learnt was the ordinary term for tuskless males. Those with one tusk are 178known as Nga-aik. For the last half-mile we had been passing amongst bamboos and tall grass, and my mahout was guiding the elephants by knocks on the head. A knock on the left temple signified turn to the right; one on the right temple, go to the left; one on the forehead, go slowly; and the animal was warned to look about by the sharp utterance of his name. Unless a driver keeps his eyes to the front there is always a chance of the roof of the howdah being stripped of its covering, and of the occupant having his eyes thrust out, or being otherwise injured. Several times I have had the insecurely fastened howdah unbalanced by an awkwardly swaying animal bringing it into contact with trees. Then it is a case of saving self and things how one can, unless the mahout can support the howdah until further assistance arrives.

On leaving the camp we entered a rice-plain five miles long, at times more than a mile and a half broad, and fringed with beautiful orchards which contained splendid clumps of bamboos, and nestled several large villages. The foliage, although chiefly evergreen, had an autumnal aspect, owing to the bamboos shedding their leaves, and the buff-coloured young leaves of the mangoes, which had recently sprouted, aiding the delusion.

179A mile from the camp we passed through Ban Doo, the village where import duties are levied. Here, on my return, I purchased from the abbot of the monastery several books concerning astrology, alchemy, sorcery, cabalistical science, and medicine. Seeing two silver images of Gaudama, with resin cores, I haggled with him for a long time over their price. At first he pretended that it was impossible for him to part with these images, as offerings had been made to them; but at the sight of many two-anna and four-anna bits his compunctions gave way, and I carried them off in triumph. They cost me dear, however, for on my sending them home, with other things, to my sister, our canny custom-house officials charged the resin as solid silver.

Large herds of cattle and buffaloes were feeding in the plain, and waging ceaseless war with their tails against myriads of bloodthirsty gad and elephant-flies. The elephants were likewise greatly annoyed by these flying leeches, and carried leafy branches in their trunks to switch them off their bodies. No one who has seen elephants fanning themselves with great palmyra-leaves, switching at the flies, or scratching themselves with twigs, could consider man the sole tool-using animal.

On leaving the rice-fields at Done Ban Kwang, we crossed the Meh Khow Tome, near a village of the same name, and halted for the night. The Meh Khow Tome is 12 feet broad, 5 feet deep, and had 9 inches of water in its bed. Its name implies the “river of cooked rice,” and is said to be derived from Gaudama having cooked rice on its banks when proceeding to impress his footprint on Loi Pong Pra Bat.

On reaching the camp I noticed rain-clouds gathering overhead, and asked the Chow Phya to arrange for our occupation of a large vacant house that had just been completed. On the arrival of the village head-man, he told us that owing to the spirits not having been propitiated, if any one slept under the roof misfortunes would certainly happen; and he begged us to refrain from doing so. He said game was exceedingly plentiful in the neighbourhood, and that wild elephant, rhinoceros, wild cattle, and pigs were often seen by the hunters; and deer, hare, pea-fowl, jungle-fowl, and quail were abundant.

Tigers, and, I believe, leopards, were prowling round the camp after nightfall; the clear “peet, peet” of the tiger 180and the “myow” came from different directions. The Shans, however, declared that they were both the cries of tigers—one when they were angry or in search of food, and the other when they were satisfied.

Early the next morning we recrossed the stream, and followed it up for four miles, the plain gradually rising as we proceeded. Teak-trees were sprinkled through the forest which neighboured the plain, and numerous yellow-flowered orchids hung in clusters from the branches of the trees. The forest gradually closed in, leaving a grass plain three-quarters of a mile wide, which we edged on the west, occasionally startling an elk-deer. A low hillock fringed the east of the plain, backed by a higher one three-quarters of a mile beyond it.

The forest was one of the most magnificent and varied I have ever seen. Padouk, thyngan, thytkado, wild mango, kanyin, banian, and many other fine trees whose names I do not know, grew to an enormous size. One looked for giants to match the trees, everything was so huge. The forest was a fit home for elephants and rhinoceroses. A kanyin-tree that I measured was 20 feet in girth 5 feet from the ground, and over 200 feet in height.

One of the men brought Dr M‘Gilvary a piece of bark off a large tree, and after smelling it, he sent it to Dr Cushing, who, after doing likewise, forwarded it to me. It nearly knocked me down. Of all the horrible odours I ever met with, that was the worst. Bracken and other ferns, as well as screw-pines, flourished in the deep shade of the forest.

At 367 miles we crossed the Huay Pa Au, the last stream that enters the Meh Khow Tome, and fifteen minutes later, without any perceptible rise, reached the Huay Leuk, which is said to enter the Meh Chun. We had crossed the water-parting between the Kiang Hai and Kiang Hsen plains without being aware of it.

Half a mile farther we crossed the toe of a spur, and then passed amidst low hillocks until we reached a dry brook 6 feet wide and 5 feet deep, where we halted for breakfast. The hills had ceased, and we were in the Kiang Hsen plain. The height of the water-parting between it and the plain of 181Kiang Hai was 1471 feet above the sea, and only 151 feet above Kiang Hai. Our camp was 369½ miles from Hlineboay, and 1447 feet above the sea.

Whilst inking the notes in my field-book, butterflies settled on my hand, and were as brave and persistent as house-flies. No sooner had I shaken them off than they were back again, being rocked on my hand as I wrote. The jungle, particularly in the neighbourhood of water, simply swarms with insect-life. An entomologist could fill a case in a morning’s walk. He would have but to shake his net under the leaves of a few bushes for walking-leaves, stick-insects, ant-cows, lady-birds, and a variety of remarkable beetles, to drop into it.

Tiger-beetles, ground-beetles, bombardier-beetles, whirling water-beetles, mimic-beetles, stag-beetles, chaffer-beetles, click-beetles, scavenger-beetles, rove-beetles, sexton-beetles, chameleon-green beetles, glowworms, fireflies, floral-beetles, blister-flies, long-snouted beetles, capricorn-beetles, tortoise-beetles, ladybird-beetles—all are found in the jungle. Dr Mason, in his work ‘Burmah,’ states that Captain Smith collected specimens of nearly 300 species in Toungoo, a town in Burmah, on the Sittang river.

In connection with butterflies, Dr Mason remarks that “when a person dies, the Burmese say the soul, or sentient principle, leaves the body in the form of a butterfly. This too was the faith of the Greeks more than 2000 years ago. Among the ancients, when a man expired, a butterfly appeared fluttering above, as if rising from the mouth of the deceased. The coincidence is the more remarkable the closer it is examined. The psyche or soul of the Greeks, represented by the butterfly, was the life, the perceptive principle, and not the pneuma or spiritual nature. So the Burmans regard the butterfly in man as that principle of his nature which perceives, but not that of which moral actions are predicated. If a person is startled or frightened so as to be astounded for the moment, they say ‘his butterfly has departed.’ When a person is unconscious of all that is passing around him in sleep, the butterfly is supposed to be absent, but on its return the person awakes, and what the butterfly has seen constitutes dreams.

182“The Greeks and Burmese undoubtedly derived these ideas from a common origin. In the Buddhist legends of the creation of man, which originated in Central Asia, it is stated that when man was formed, a caterpillar, or worm, was introduced into the body, which, after remaining ten lunar months, brought forth the living man; and hence the reason why a butterfly is supposed to leave the body at death.”

Leaving the brook, I skirted some granite boulders, and halted for an hour in a grassy plain, a mile from the camp, to sketch Loi Htong, Loi Ta, and Loi Ya Tow. Where these hills come together, the end of each is precipitous, the precipices confronting each other. The villagers say that Loi Htong and Loi Ta were about to fight when Loi Ya Tow (Ya Tow, an honorific term given the grandmother on the father’s side) stepped in between and stopped them. These hills, or rather the shrines on them, are held in high esteem by the people, and pilgrimages are made to them by pilgrims from great distances, as it is believed that many sacred relics of Gaudama, and of the three previous Buddhs, are enshrined there.

According to “The History of the Shrine of Loi Htong,” which I borrowed from the pagoda slave who had charge of it, the shrine, which is situated in a cave on the summit of the hill, contains 566 relics of Gaudama, the last Buddh. These relics consist of his collar-bones, the hair of his head and body, his teeth, and the little stones, as large as mustard-seed, found in the ashes after the body was burned: 500 of them were deposited there shortly after the Buddh’s death by Phya A-soot-a, the king of Kiang Hsen; 50 by the king of Muang Yong, the State to the north of Kiang Hsen, a hundred years after the death of the Buddh; and 16 by a russi, or hermit, 1980 years later, or in A.D. 1437.

183Further to attract pilgrims to the shrine, the history relates that all the four Buddhs of the present lawka^[5] visited the shrine, and that the third Buddh called twelve celestial fountains into existence in its neighbourhood. Worshippers bathing in one would be healed of all their diseases, and have every desire fulfilled. Another conferred wisdom. Another enabled a person to see the spirits, who are shrouded from mortal vision by a white veil. Another dispelled all angry passions. Another renewed youth and youthful desires. Another was for the Yaks, or ogres, to bathe in. One of the fountains on the east of the shrine is guarded by a serpent that lives in the heart of the mountain. The shrine is said to be guarded by two monkeys who were placed there by Gaudama Buddh at the time of his visit, when he ordained that offerings of fruit, flowers, and rice should be made to the monkeys and their descendants by the people, and that all making the offerings should prosper greatly.

Another part of the history relates that three hundred years after the last Buddh’s death a Tay-wa-boot,^[6] or male angel, brought a young banian-tree from Himapan, and planted it to the north of the shrine. Whoever wished to obtain sons or daughters had only to place a prop under the eastern branch. One placed under the northern branch would ensure the attainment of all earthly blessings. One placed under the western branch would cure all bodily ailments. 184A person placing a prop under the southern branch would attain Neiban, the state of peaceful restfulness, the highest bliss desired by a Buddhist.

The history likewise contains a few particulars about the early relations of the Shans with the Lawas, and the foundation and dynasties of Kiang Hsen.

During my halt a jungle-fire sprang up in the long grass, and the elephants became restless. My companions, therefore, went on to the place where we were to camp for the night, and my mahout took his elephant out of sight of the fire. I was so bent on sketching and taking angles, that I woke up from my work surprised to find myself alone. Loogalay, with the heedlessness of a Burman, had loafed off with the other servants, when he ought to have been in attendance upon me. Following the track for about half a mile, I found my elephant waiting for me, and continued through the grassy plain, where the trees were still in leaf, and soon afterwards crossed the Meh Chan, or Meh Tsan as it is called by the Burmese Shans. The Meh Chan is a stream 30 feet broad, 7 feet deep, with 2 feet of water in the channel. It flows from the west, but turns north-east at our crossing, and enters the Meh Khum near Kiang Hsen.

After passing some distance through the straggling village of Ban Meh Chan, a suburb of Ban Meh Kee, I halted to sketch the hills, which stretch for 25 miles to the west, and enclose the valleys of the Meh Chan and Meh Khum. Mr Archer, of our Siam consular service, who crossed from Muang Fang into the valley of the Meh Chan in 1887, reported that the pass between the source of the Meh Chan and the Meh Khoke (Meh Khok) was some 2650 feet above the sea. As the Meh Khoke, where crossed by him, must have been at least 1500 feet above the sea, the rise in the 18 miles from the Meh Khoke to the top of the pass would have been only about 1150 feet, and the fall in the 32 miles from the pass to Ban Meh Kee (Më Khi) only 1200 feet. There would therefore be very little difficulty in connecting Muang Fang with Kiang Hsen by a railway.

The Kiang Hsen plain extends for 12 miles to the west 185of Ban Meh Chan, the hills forming an irregular amphitheatre, with a diameter of 17 miles. To the south the plain is fringed by low isolated hills and hillocks; to the north-east it stretches for 18 miles to the Meh Kong; and it continues northwards for 43 miles up the valley of the Nam Hu-uk (Më Huok), or for 20 miles beyond the fort that has recently been built by the Siamese at Viang Hpan (Wieng Phan), on the Meh Sai. If we include the Kiang Hsen, Kiang Hai, and Penyow plains, which are conterminous, the total length of this vast plain is over 115 miles. Assuming its average breadth as 10 miles, there is ample room in it for a million people to earn their living by agriculture. Viang Hpan lies 23 miles north of Ban Meh Chan.

At the time of my visit, the Siamo-Burmese frontier passed between Ban Meh Kee, the northernmost Siamese Shan village, and Ban Meh Puen, the southernmost Burmese Shan village, the two villages being distant some 1950 feet. At the time of Mr Archer’s visit the Siamese had encroached 22 miles within our frontier, by building their fort on the Meh Sai. Unless this is rectified, disturbances will certainly occur between the Ngio Shans, our subjects, and the Siamese. Even as it is, our subjects consider that the Meh Khoke to its mouth forms their proper boundary, and that the Siamese had no right to encroach beyond that river.

After an hour’s halt, I again started, and passing through the village, crossed the stream, and traversed a teak-forest for the next ten minutes. Most of the small hillocks that are scattered about the plain are covered with teak-trees. Leaving the forest, I again entered the plain, which was covered with thatching-grass, and crossed to where my party was encamped on the banks of the Meh Chan. The camp was situated 376 miles from Hlineboay.

186Leaving early the next morning, we continued through the plain, which was much cut up by irrigation-channels, and had evidently at one time been under cultivation, and halted for breakfast on the outer fortifications of the centre one of the three ancient cities of Manola, which lay on our left.

The three cities of Manola, “the silver mountains,” are said to have been built by the Tay-wa-boot, or male angels. They are each about half a mile in diameter, and are erected on separate knolls. The ditch of the one visited by me was 100 feet wide, and 40 feet deep from the top of the inner rampart. Great trees, some over 100 feet high, growing on the fortifications, indicated that the city must have been deserted for two or three hundred years. Close to the city, at the eastern suburb of Ban Kyoo Pow, a tiger had seized a cow the previous night, on the banks of the Meh Chun, and both had rolled into the river; the tiger was so surprised that it allowed the cow to escape. The owner, hearing the noise, fired off his gun to scare the tiger.

The people of the neighbouring village complained of the ravages committed by wild pigs; thirty of these animals had rooted up part of their crops the previous year. According to the villagers, the enormous plain we were passing through was entirely under cultivation previous to A.D. 1794–97, when Viang Chang and Luang Prabang besieged Kiang Hsen; but now the greater part of it is covered with elephant-grass, and forms the haunt of vast herds of deer, black cattle larger than buffaloes, rhinoceroses, and other wild animals. Wild elephants are at times seen in the unsettled parts of the plain, but none had been captured recently.

There were no ruins in the city; but after leaving it I noticed in a teak-forest, near the village of Ban Pa Sak, the remains of a pagoda and temple. A mile and a half to the right of the village is a hillock called Loi Koo, or the hill of the royal sepulchre. Continuing through the plain, we came to the village of Meh Tsun Tsoor, where a tiger had endeavoured to carry off cattle the previous night, but had been frightened away by the villagers. We halted for the night at Pang Mau Pong, or the camp of Dr Pong, a celebrated hunter.

Loi Chang Ngo (the hill where the elephant became drowsy) commences about four miles north of the camp, from which there is a fine view of it, as well as of Loi Saun ka-tee (the hillock to the north of Kiang Hsen), and some distant precipitous hills lying to the east of the Meh Kong. Loi Chang Ngo derives its name from the following legend: Before the destruction of Muang Nŏng by Phya Then, or Indra, the sacred white elephant left the city, and went trumpeting to Chang Hsen; hence its name (Chang, an elephant; Hsen, trumpeting). From Kiang Hsen it proceeded to Loi Chang Ngo, and disappeared. It is supposed to be slumbering there still.

The legend of Muang Nŏng relates that Phya Then was incensed at the inhabitants of the city eating white eels—most white animals, except white men and white cats, are considered sacred by the Shans—and submerged the city, turning the site into a lake. Only a hunter’s house, which 188was built on the outskirts, remained. He had asked the people for some of the fish, but had been refused. The name Phya In, used by the Zimmé Shans for Indra, seems to be a compromise between the Phya Then of the Burmese Shans (which is doubtless derived from the Tien of the Chinese) and the Indra of the natives of India.

During the evening (20th March) we had a heavy downpour of rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning.

The next morning, after leaving the village fields, and crossing the Meh Chan for the last time, we passed between a newly raised footpath and a ditch for about half a mile. The footpath had been raised, because, when the Meh Kong is in high flood, the ground about here and between this and Kiang Hsen is occasionally inundated by the Meh Khum. At 389 miles we skirted a hillock, called Loi Ngome, on our right, and soon afterwards came to the village and fields of Hsan Hsoom Hpee. Many low hillocks were now seen at distances varying from 800 feet to four miles to our right. A short distance from Kiang Hsen I halted near an irrigation-canal, 100 feet wide and 6 feet deep, to visit the Koo Tow, a celebrated leaning pagoda, which, unlike any other pagoda that I have seen in Indo-China, has been built in the Chinese style. The figures of the Tay-wa-boot or male angels, which are 189executed in bas-relief in excellent plaster, are Burmese in design. The pagoda is circular, and about 75 feet high; the upper 60 feet rising in three storeys, like a drawn-out telescope. Each storey is divided into two by an ornamental band, above which are Tay-wa-boot with hands upraised and palms pressed together in adoration, and below which are similar Tay-wa-boot with hands pressed together in front of their chest. Before the pagoda a Burmese image of Gaudama has been erected, which was still in good condition with the exception of the loss of a hand and an arm.

On remounting the elephant, a deer sprang up from the long grass close by and crossed the track. Six minutes later I crossed the Meh Khum, or golden river, 80 feet broad and 9 feet deep, with 3½ feet of water; and three-quarters of a mile from the pagoda, entered the fortifications which enclose the west central gate of Kiang Hsen. The gate opens on to one of the main streets of the city, along which we passed amidst numerous ruins of religious buildings, and a few clusters of recently built houses, to the sala or rest-house, which we occupied during our stay. The sala is situated 1274 feet to the west of the Meh Kong, or Cambodia river, 393 miles from Hlineboay, 1097 feet above the sea, and only 89 feet higher than Zimmé.

THE MEH KONG AT KIANG HSEN—RINGWORM—EXTENSIVE RUINS—DESCRIPTION OF CITY—IMPORTANCE OF SITUATION FOR TRADE—CHINESE SETTLERS FROM SSUCHUAN, KWEICHAU, AND YUNNAN—PROJECTED RAILWAY—SURVEYS BEING MADE BY KING OF SIAM—EXCURSIONS FROM KIANG HSEN—TEAK-FORESTS—ROBBING AN IMAGE—LEGEND OF KIANG MEE-ANG—ANCIENT CITIES—COMPARISON BETWEEN ANCIENT BRITONS AND SHANS—ANCIENT PRINCIPALITY OF TSEN—KIANG HUNG—DESTRUCTION OF KIANG HSEN—CARRIED AWAY CAPTIVES—TREACHERY IN WAR—POPULATION OF ZIMMÉ CHIEFLY SLAVES—KIANG HSEN REOCCUPIED IN 1881—RESETTLING IT—ACTION OF KING OF SIAM—FRIENDLY FOOTING OF MISSIONARIES—VIEW ACROSS THE KIANG HSEN PLAIN—FLOODED COUNTRY—LEAVE FOR KIANG HAI—A WHITE ELEPHANT—BRANCHES AS SUNSHADES—ELEPHANT-FLIES—EMIGRANTS FROM LAPOON—BEAUTIFUL SCENERY—MR ARCHER’S DESCRIPTION OF TRAFFIC ALONG THE ROUTE.

Whilst the elephants were being unloaded and the servants were preparing breakfast, the Chow Phya, or district officer of Kiang Hai, who had been deputed to accompany us to Kiang Hsen, went to the Chow Hluang’s to inform him of our arrival, and we strolled to the bank of the Meh Kong, the Cambodia river of the French, to see the view.

We found ourselves a few miles above the entrance of the Meh Khoke, which is here separated from the Meh Khum by a long hillock, called Loi Chan (the steep hill). Just below the mouth of the Meh Khoke, the Meh Kong commences its great eastern bend, which stretches through two degrees of latitude to Luang Prabang.

The distance between Kiang Hsen and Luang Prabang by boat is about 200 miles, and the journey was performed by Dr M‘Gilvary in six days. The first day’s journey took 191him to Kiang Khong, a city of two or three thousand inhabitants, and the capital of a district under Muang Nan. In describing the river between Kiang Khong and Luang Prabang he says: “The river is a mile wide in places, and where the channel is narrowed it rushes along with frightful rapidity. 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 scenery from the bank of the river at Kiang Hsen was magnificent. The great river flowing in its deep channel, partially restricted by sandbanks, was a mile wide, 21 feet below its banks, and unfordable. To the east, about 40 miles distant, a mass of mountains about 30 miles in length, and perhaps forming part of the long winding valley spoken of by Dr M‘Gilvary, showed boldly against the sky; to the north-east, nearer the river, rose the precipitous hills we had previously seen from Pang Mau Pong; and between the mountains and the river, the country appeared to be a vast forest-covered plain, in which low hills were visible at 4 and 20 miles’ distance.

To the south, beyond Lāun Ten (the island of the embankment), a tree-clad island, containing the ruins of many religious buildings, which is said to have been the site of an extensive city, and to have been joined on to the mainland, is the mouth of the Meh Khoke; and beyond it, on the same bank of the river, Loi Meh Yap closes in the view, and separates the valley of the Meh Khoke from that of the Meh Yap.

192On our return to the sala, the Chow Phya of Kiang Hai informed us that the Chow Hluang was away on a fishing excursion, and that the Chow Hona, the second chief, was absent at Zimmé. The son of the Chow Hluang and the chief Chow Phya of Kiang Hsen had returned with him to pay us a visit, and see how they might add to our comfort. They said that doubtless the chief would return by the day after the morrow, as although some distance away, he would certainly hasten back as soon as the messengers they had already despatched reached him.

The son of the chief was sorry his father was not there to welcome us, and still more so that, owing to smallpox raging in his own family, he was himself unable to offer us hospitality. He thought we would be more comfortable in the court-house, which was a new and capacious building; but on visiting it with him, we found it in an unfinished condition, and only partially floored, so determined to remain in our smaller but more cosy quarters.

Seeing the Chow Phya covered with ringworm, I gave him some Goa powder, and told him how to apply it. I afterwards learnt that it worked a perfect cure, for the Chow Phya showed his gratitude by writing to Dr M‘Gilvary, and forwarding me a copy of the history of Kiang Hsen, which I had expressed a wish to obtain. The work, 193however, proved to be valueless, except as a curiosity. Mrs M‘Gilvary, who kindly offered to translate it for me, finding it utterly unreliable—indeed, merely an olio of Buddhist legends and improbable events—soon threw the manuscript aside, considering it useless to waste further time upon it.

After breakfast we rambled through the city, about half of which was covered with the remains of fifty-three temples, and of monasteries and pagodas in their grounds. The seeds of the pipal tree, Ficus religiosa, had been dropped by birds into the interstices of the brick masonry of the pagodas, and grown into large trees. The roots of the trees, after shattering the masonry, had prevented it from falling, by clasping it in their strangling embrace. Splendid bronze images of Gaudama, generally in a good state of preservation, were scattered about in every direction, and often half buried in the débris of the fallen buildings.

The images varied from 6 inches to 7 feet in height, and one known as Taung-lan-ten is an object of pilgrimage to 194hundreds of worshippers from the British and Siamese Shan States. This image, which is about 5 feet in height, has a legend attached to it, which relates that, when the great bronze image, now at Ava, known as the Aracan Buddha, was cast, a fabulous bird, called a galoon, alighted at the site, and fanned the furnace with its wings; and a naga, or dragon, came and blew the fire up with its breath. As their reward for these meritorious acts, Gaudama resolved that in their next birth they should be born men, and the galoon should cast a similar image at Kiang Hsen, and the naga one at Zimmé. A bamboo and thatched shed had recently been erected over the image as a temporary shelter, in place of the handsome building, with pillars and tiled roof, whose remains lay shattered around it.

What struck me most in the ruins of the temples was the vast number of the images, the excellence of the plaster which still adhered to the remains of the massive brick walls and pillars, and the beauty of the ornamental decorations. The people of the city in olden times must have been numerous, wealthy, and highly skilled in the arts, to account for the number of the monasteries, and the workmanship displayed in the images and buildings.

Kiang Hsen is built in the form of an irregular parallelogram, 195with its sides facing the cardinal points. The city, which is about 11,057 feet long, and 3900 feet wide, is protected on three sides by double ramparts and a ditch. The eastern side is unprotected; the fortifications, together with about a quarter of a mile in width of the city, having been swept away by the encroachment of the river. The outer rampart, having a base of 70 feet, is 12 feet wide at the top, and 14 feet high; its outer slope is much flatter than the inner one. The inner rampart has a base of 75 feet, and is 18 feet in height. In its centre is a wall 2½ feet wide, from which the earthen slopes extend for 30 feet within the city, and for 43 feet outside. The crenelated top of the wall having been destroyed, a strong teak palisade 6 feet high has been erected against its inner side as a protection. The ramparts are 97 feet apart from the centre of their crests, and the bottom of the ditch is 30 feet wide, and has silted up to the level of the ground inside and outside the city. The entrances to the city are fortified by double courtyards, defended by brick walls and palisading, and by an outside ditch, as shown on the sketch. There is a large gap in the southern ramparts, which is said to have been made when the Lao Shans attacked the city in 1797.

Kiang Hsen is admirably situated for purposes of trade, at the intersection of routes leading from China, Burmah, Karenni, the Shan States, Siam, Tonquin, and Annam. It 196forms, in fact, a centre of intercourse between all the Indo-Chinese races, and the point of dispersion for caravans along the diverging trade-routes. When the country is opened up by railways, and peace is assured to the Shan States to the north by our taking them fully under our protection, the great trade that will spring up between Burmah, Siam, the Shan States, and China, will make the city of great importance. Its position as a commercial centre in the midst of the vast plains which extend on both sides of the river; its bountiful climate and productive soil; the wealth in teak and other timber, as well as in minerals of the surrounding regions; and the fact, brought out by Mr Bourne in his report, that Chinese from Ssuchuan (Szechuen), Kweichau, and Yunnan, are settling in the Shan States to the north of it, will soon tempt immigrants to take up the now vacant land, and ensure the city and district a large and prosperous population.

The King of Siam is fully aware of the great value of the region, and has been doing his utmost for several years to increase its population, by resettling the country with the descendants of its inhabitants that were taken captive, or else had fled from the Burmese into the Siamese Shan States. The king is likewise having surveys made by English engineers for the portions of the Burmah-Siam-China Railway lying within his territories, and has likewise instituted surveys for branches to connect Zimmé, Luang Prabang, and Korat with the railway. These surveys, together with estimates for the construction of the lines, are to be completed in three years from March 1888.

During our stay at Kiang Hsen, I spent my time in sketching, taking observations, and in collecting information about the country. I was thus unable to accompany my companions upon some of their rambles. One of their excursions led them to Muang Hit, the site of a city on the east of the river, about three miles to the north of Kiang Hsen. No remains were found, with the exception of the old moat, an inscription on the bronze cap of a pagoda, giving A.D. 1732 as the date of its erection, and a house and clearing that had recently been deserted. Iron-mines exist near the 197ruins, but the neighbouring country was uninhabited except by deer, tigers, leopards, wild cattle, and other wild animals. Three Burmese Shan villages, containing 130 houses between them, had recently been built a mile or two above Muang Hit. The boundary between the Burmese and British Shan States would therefore cross the river about this city.

198Teak is the principal tree in the forests on both sides of the river, and even the ruins in Kiang Hsen were partially hidden by teak-trees that had sprung up since its desertion. From Kiang Hsen to Kiang Hai, teak is found on most of the hillocks.

Another day they visited the site of the ancient city of Kiang Mee-ang, which is situated on the west bank of the river, five or six miles above Kiang Hsen, at the point where the Meh Kee-ang joins the Meh Kong. It had lately been colonised by the Ping Shans, and about forty houses had been built there at the time of Dr Cushing’s and Dr M‘Gilvary’s visit. The path to the ruins led along the bank of the river, and was thickly wooded with excellent teak-trees. No remains were found, with the exception of the moat, and the ruins of a shrine which had been erected on the summit of a hill.

The principal image in the temple had been executed in plastered brickwork, covered with the ordinary coatings of damma and gold-leaf, and some sacrilegious plunderer had knocked its head off in order to obtain any treasure that might be contained inside. According to Dr Cushing, it is the custom of the Shans, when constructing a brick image, to make a square cavity running down from the neck to the vicinity of the heart, to be used as a receptacle for pieces of silver, which are generally put in to represent that organ.

On asking the chief, on his return to Kiang Hsen, about Kiang Mee-ang, he said there was a remarkable legend attached to it, which ran as follows: The chief of Kiang Mee-ang (who died three years before the destruction of Kiang Hsen), owing to his abundant merit, had the power of calling up armed allies from any direction to which he turned his face. During his lifetime his State was at peace. When the Ping Shans conquered the country, they sent his body, which was covered with a complete mask of gold-leaf (also an ancient Egyptian custom), to the Siamese king at Bangkok. The King of Siam, knowing the merit of the deceased ruler, and fearing that his power might adhere to 199his corpse, had it buried face downwards, as no army could invade Siam from that direction.

The chief told us that many other cities were scattered about the country, but owing to their having been depopulated during the wars of last and the beginning of this century, most of their names had been forgotten. There are, according to him, many ruins at Peuk Sa (a consultation), which is otherwise known as Kiang Hsen Noi, and lies between the city and the Meh Khoke. Muang Poo Kah (the city of the kine-grass troops) lay to the north; Muang Ko, about two days’ journey above the city; Kiang Hpan, near Loi Ta; Muang Kong (the submerged city), to the south near the Meh Khoke; Viang Wai (the bamboo city), to the west of Ban Meh Kee; Muang Loi (the city of the hills), a mile to the north of Kiang Hsen, and Kiang Mak Nau.

Some of the cities whose names are lost are known as Chinese cities, and are said to be the remains of fortified camps erected by the Chinese in bygone ages, during their various invasions of the country. Others are said to have been built by the Lawas when they held sway in the country. Some were erected by angels, nyaks (serpents or dragons), and genii; and those of later construction, by the Shans.

Many of the cities bore a strong resemblance to the ancient Celtic fortresses found by Cæsar in Britain, which are described as fastnesses in the woods, surrounded by a mound and trench, calculated to afford the people a retreat and protection during hostile invasion of their territory. The Venerable Bede, who was born in the seventh century of our era, described the mode of erecting fortified Celtic camps as follows: “A vallum, or rampart, by which camps are fortified for repelling the attack of enemies, is made of turf cut regularly out of the earth and built high above the ground like a wall, having a ditch before it, out of which the turf has been dug, above which stakes made of very strong timbers are fixed.” This exactly describes many of the fortified cities and camps in the Shan States.

There is likewise a resemblance between the appearance, 200customs, and habits of the Shan tribes, and those of the earliest known inhabitants of Britain, who are said to have belonged to the tawny, black-haired section of mankind. Both were divided into numerous petty tribes and sections of tribes, often at war with one another, and generally devoid of everything like unity or cohesion, even under pressure of foreign invasion; both were given to offering up human sacrifices in order to appease the wrath of local deities; and both races tattooed their bodies. The Shan house-architecture likewise resembles that of the ancient Britons, whose houses and cattle-sheds were formed with reeds and logs, surrounded by stockades constructed of felled trees. Houses built of bamboo matting and logs, with palisaded enclosures, are the ordinary type of architecture in the Shan States.

At one time the principality of Hsen or Tsen (some Shans aspirate the initial, and some do not) was far more extensive than it is at present. From B.C. 330 to B.C. 221, when the kingdom of Tsoo was conquered by the Emperor of Ts’in, Tsen was tributary to Tsoo; and at the time the Chinese conquered South-western Yunnan (B.C. 108), Tsen, then a state of Ma Mo (a Shan kingdom in the upper part of the Irrawaddi valley) confederation, extended southwards from the Yunnan lake, and eastwards to Nanning. It probably comprised the Shan States of Tsen-i-fa or Kiang Hung, Tsen-i or Theinni, and Kiang Tsen amongst its muangs, which became feudatory to Burmah between A.D. 1522–1615.

The upper part of the old principality of Tsen, when formed into a separate State, was known to the Chinese as Chan Li (Chang Li), and later as Che-li. This principality was broken up by the Chinese in A.D. 1730, when they forced the chief to pay tribute for the six pannas (or districts) lying to the south of Ssumao and to the east of the Meh Kong, and annexed the portion of his territory lying to the east of the Meh Kong, that extended as far north as half-way between Puerh and Chen Yuan Fu, and as far south as and comprising Ssumao. Thus the chief of Che-li (the Kiang Hung of the Shans, and the Kaing Yung-gyi of 201the Burmese) became tributary to China, as well as feudatory to Burmah.

In conversation with the Chow Hluang of Kiang Hsen, he told us that he was descended from the ancient line of Kiang Hsen, as well as from the ruling line of Zimmé. The present capital, according to him, was built in 1699, and destroyed by the Ping Shans in 1804. In giving the history of its destruction, he said that in 1778, four years after the Ping Shans had thrown off their allegiance to Burmah and become feudatory to Siam, the Lao Shans of Vieng Chang and Luang Prabang became tributary to Siam, and, urged on by Siam, besieged Kiang Hsen from 1794 to 1797.

During the siege the Lao forces were commanded by Phya Anoo, the chief of Vieng Chang, who, enraged at the long resistance, issued a proclamation declaring that every male found in the city should be put to death on its capture. This made the resistance of the besieged desperate. The Lao finally succeeded in undermining and breaching the middle of the southern wall, when a storming-party under Phya Tap Lik made an entrance; but so fiercely were they met by the defenders, that they were not only driven back, but their leader was captured, and subsequently drowned in the Meh Kong. A month later the Lao forces gave up the siege, being unaware of the fact that famine was raging in the city, and would, if the siege had continued, soon have forced its inhabitants to surrender.

Between 1779 and 1803, according to the history of Zimmé, Kiang Hsen was attacked six times by the Ping Shans, and only taken by them in 1804. During the siege by the Lao in 1797, a body of 300 Ping Shans established themselves as an army of observation near the city, but did not take part in the operations. An agreement is said to have been made with their commander, that if he would return with 3000 troops, the inhabitants would kill the Burmese troops and open the gates.

Previous to its fall in 1804, the commander of the Ping troops, which included the joint forces of Zimmé, Lakon, Nan, and Pheh, secretly informed the chief of Kiang Hsen 202that they had only come to accede to his former proposal, and merely wished Kiang Hsen to throw off the Burmese yoke and become feudatory to Siam, as the Ping Shans had already done; and he promised that, if the inhabitants of Kiang Hsen would massacre the Burmese governor and his troops and open the gates, the Ping Shans would form a defensive and offensive alliance with them. The inhabitants of Kiang Hsen accordingly slew the Burmese governor and the 300 Burmese soldiers who were within the walls, and opened the gates to the Ping Shans. They soon found to their cost that they had been treacherously dealt with. The city was destroyed; some of the people escaped across the Salween and settled in Mokmai and Monay, and the rest were taken captive to the Ping States, and distributed amongst them. With the Shans treachery is an ordinary occurrence in warfare: the persons deluded are ashamed at having been taken in; the successful party chuckles and crows over his cleverness.

From the time when Kiang Hsen was captured till 1810, Ping Shan armies frequently raided into the Burmese Shan States—proceeding as far west as the Salween, and as far north as the border of China—sacked the towns, and carried away the inhabitants into captivity. The late General M‘Leod, when at Zimmé in 1837, states in his journal that “the greater part of the inhabitants of Zimmé are people from Kiang Tung, Muang Niong (Yong), Kiang Then (Tsen or Hsen), and many other places to the northward. They were originally subjects of Ava (Burmah).” In another passage he says: “They, with the Talaings (Peguan Burmese), comprise more than two-thirds of the population of the country.”

The Chow Hluang told me that before he left Lapoon to take up the government of Kiang Hsen, when it was reoccupied in 1881, his retainers numbered fully 30,000 souls, amongst whom were 2500 fighting-men. Every man from eighteen to seventy years of age, who is not a slave, is reckoned as a fighting man; and allowing one grown man to every five souls, there must have been fully 6000 grown men amongst his dependants. This proportion between full-grown 203slaves and fighting-men shows that there were about 17,500 slaves amongst his 30,000 retainers. The descendants of Burmese refugees and captives in war are classed as slaves by the Siamese and the Ping Shans, and are parcelled out amongst the ruling classes. His statement must be taken with a grain or two of salt, as the chiefs are apt to give Falstaffian accounts of the numbers of their retainers.

In order to repopulate Kiang Hsen, which had been deserted for seventy-seven years, the King of Siam ordered a list to be made of the descendants of captives that had been taken from that State, so that they might be sent there. This list, when forwarded to Bangkok, included 500 full-grown men in Lapoon, 1000 men in Lakon, and only 370 men in Zimmé. The chief of Nan, although there were over 1000 full-grown men in his State descended from Kiang Hsen captives, refused to comply with the order, on the plea that Nan had lately repopulated the country to the north of the great bend of the Meh Kong. He further stated that he would on no account form a joint settlement with people from the Shan States of Zimmé, Lakon, and Lapoon; but if they failed in being able to settle Kiang Hsen, Nan by itself would settle it. The chief of Lakon likewise remonstrated against the order, urging, as an excuse for not obeying it, that, as his State had established 204and repopulated Penyow and Ngow, it was but just that the other States should have the glory of establishing Kiang Hsen.

The King of Siam, having but a small hold upon Nan, thought fit to admit its excuse, but ordered that Lakon must send 1000 full-grown men; Zimmé, 1000; Pheh, 300; and Lapoon the whole of the dependants of the prince who had been appointed ruler of Kiang Hsen. Lakon absolutely refused to comply with this order, and it was only after he was charged with rebellion by the king that he consented to send between 500 and 600 men with their families to Kiang Hsen. Up to the time of my visit the people had been merely arriving in dribblets, and only 607 houses had been erected in the State, of which 139 were in the city. The Chow Hluang said many immigrants from Lakon, Zimmé, and Lapoon were then on their way to Kiang Hsen, as the King of Siam was determined that the full tally ordered by him should be completed. Many of these immigrants were met by me when returning to Kiang Hai. On the Burmese side of the frontier the Moné Shans, the Ngio, had erected 641 houses.

The Chow Hluang appeared to be very angry with the chief of Lapoon, his former suzerain, for preventing some of the 2500 serfs, who had offered to follow him as their liege lord, from leaving Lapoon. It is the custom among the Ping Shans for a serf to have the right of changing his allegiance from one lord to another if he wishes to do so, and this right has always acted as a great check to the growth of oppression. On the Chow Hluang being appointed to Kiang Hsen, 2500 serfs placed their names on his list, and offered to accompany him with their families and slaves.

The rainfall is not nearly as plentiful in Lapoon as it is in Kiang Hsen, and the plains of Kiang Hsen are renowned for their fruitfulness: thus the people would greatly improve their prospects by the change; besides which, there are always fewer Government monopolies in the frontier districts. Kiang Hsen, being made into a separate State, would not be dependent upon Lapoon. The Chow Hluang of the latter State was therefore naturally averse to losing 205a large body of his people, and had consequently obstructed the emigration by all the means in his power. The chief of Kiang Hsen, tired of remonstrating with the chief of Lapoon, had appealed to Zimmé and Bangkok to have him compelled to send his adherents to Kiang Hsen.

The chief of Kiang Hsen was an old acquaintance and friend of Dr M‘Gilvary, and seemed well pleased to see him. Nothing struck me more during my journeys than the high estimation in which the American missionaries were held by the chiefs. Not only were they on a kindly and friendly footing with them, but by their bold strictures upon acts of injustice, and by exposing and expostulating against the wickedness and senselessness of certain of the reigning superstitions, they had become a beneficent power in the country.

During our stay the chief did all he could to make us comfortable; sent us the best fruit, fowls, and vegetables at his disposal, and allowed an ox to be killed for us, although there were at that time not more than sixty oxen amongst the settlers in the whole region. After the animal was slaughtered, cut up, and removed, its late companions, attracted by the scent, gathered round the spot in the most pathetic manner, sniffing at the ground, and time after time, when driven away, returning, and wandering uneasily about, as if aware that some ill fate had befallen their comrade.

The day before we left Kiang Hsen, I took a walk to the pagoda on Loi Saun-ka-tee, the hill to the north of the city, in order to sketch the hills to the west of the plain, and, as far as possible, fix their position. The air was clear, and I got a splendid view. Loi Htong, Loi Ya Tow, and Loi Ta, which I had previously sketched on entering the Kiang Hsen plain, now lay a little to the north of west, at a distance of about seventeen miles. Farther to the north, Loi Pa Hem loomed up in the distance, and seemed not to belong to the same system of hills: this hill was passed by M‘Leod when on his way to Kiang Tung in 1837. The great plain we were looking at, in which a few hillocks outcropped, extended to the foot of the mountains, but its northern and southern extensions were hidden by the low hills on which we were 206standing, and the hillocks which we had skirted on our way to the city.

On calling to say good-bye, before leaving on March 24th, I asked the chief about the floods that occasionally happened in the plain to the south of the Meh Khum. These, he said, were chiefly caused by the flood-waters of the Meh Kong backing up the water of the Meh Khum. When the Meh Kong was at its highest, the inundation sometimes rose two and a half feet over the bank, but the flood never extended north of the Meh Khum, nor farther inland than Loi Champa and Hong Seu-a Teng (the fishery where the tiger leapt); and even in this strip of plain there was a space between the Meh Chun and the Meh Khum, extending to Ban Kan Hta, which was never overflowed. The land near the mouth of the Meh Khoke, and for some distance up-stream, was also subject to inundation, the flow of the water in that river being impeded by waterweeds. Having finished my calls, and made presents to the chief and officials, and thanked them for their hospitality, we had the elephants loaded, and a little after one o’clock in the afternoon left the city.

207The first night we halted at Pang Mau Pong, where we had stayed on our way to Kiang Hsen. I chose a different elephant for the return journey, much against the wish of the Chow Phya, who was accompanying us; it being considered infra dig. for a gentleman to ride any but a male beast. But I preferred ease to dignity; my former long-legged elephant having jolted me with its jerking pace, and the one I chose, although a female, moving with an exceptionally easy gait. The elephant-driver, on my noticing that its head was salmon-coloured speckled with darker spots, assured me that if it had been a male, it would have been honoured as a white elephant, and presented to the King of Siam. My eyes had become so inflamed with the constant glare from the white paths, and from peering at the small figures on the silver rim of the prismatic compass, that I was obliged to give up night-work as far as possible, and on my return to England I had to commence wearing spectacles.

The next morning we started at 6 A.M., all feeling much better for our long halt at Kiang Hsen. The boys were quite rejuvenated, and walked along briskly under their umbrellas in the fresh morning air, singing scraps of songs as they went, joking with each other, and with all whom they met. When tired by a long journey they become jaded, and walk as if they have tar on their feet. After passing two caravans of laden cattle conveying the goods of some immigrants from Zimmé, we halted at a village to purchase fresh vegetables, but could only procure a few onions. Some of the trees had sprouted after the rain on the 21st, and everything was looking fresher than before.

Starting again, we passed some men carrying eel-spears, and stopped for breakfast at Kyoo Pow on the banks of the Meh Chun, where we bought some bringals and mustard-leaves. Many doves were cooing in the trees, and did not 208go into a pie, as I refused to let the boys have the gun to shoot them. We likewise saw a few green paroquets.

After breakfast we were off again, the elephant-men carrying leafy branches to shelter their eyes, as we were proceeding due west. We passed another caravan of laden cattle, and halted for the night at Ban Meh Kee. I had thoroughly enjoyed the journey—being mounted on an easier beast, and having a complete holiday, as I had previously surveyed the route.

Next day we woke up with the thermometer marking 57°, and were off before 6 A.M. An hour later we met a caravan of sixty-three laden oxen conducted by Burmese Shans on their way to Kiang Tung. The leading oxen had masks, embroidered with beads, on their faces, surmounted by peacocks’ tails. We then entered the evergreen forest—where the gibbons were wailing, and doing wondrous feats of agility, outleaping Leotard at every spring—and halted for breakfast amongst some gigantic kanyin and thyngan trees.

In the afternoon we made a short march to our former halting-place at Meh Khow Tone. The gadflies in the forest were nearly an insupportable nuisance. These vampires were so intent upon drawing blood, that they never moved as my hand slowly approached to crunch them. They are noiseless on the wing, and painless in their surgery. One is unaware of their presence until a ruddy streak appears on one’s clothing. The elephants constantly scraped up the dust with their trunks to blow at the flies, where they could not reach them with the leafy branches that they carried. Our boys hurried along, armed like the elephants, slashing at the flies on their shoulders and backs. We were all glad to reach the camp.

Shortly before halting we passed several hundred emigrants from Lapoon, squatting down and enjoying their mid-day rest, with their packs by their side, and their oxen grazing close by. A great part of their baggage was borne by the men on shoulder-bamboos.

We were off before six the next morning, and after passing fifteen Kiang Tung Shans on their way back from Maulmain with their purchases, a Chinaman carrying three 209huge iron pots for distilling, and caravans of forty cattle carrying the goods of some of the Lapoon emigrants, we entered the Yung Leh rice-fields. Rain had evidently fallen since we passed through them on our way to Kiang Hsen; the scene was changed as by an enchanter’s wand, and had now the aspect of spring. Young leaves were sprouting on the trees, even the evergreens were decked with them, while the leaf-dropping bamboos looked quite fresh, the rain having freed them from their coatings of dust. Paddy-birds had arrived, and were perched in flocks upon some of the trees, making them in the morning mist look a mass of white blossoms. Five great jo-jas (slate-coloured cranes) strutted through the plain, companies of caravan Shans were dotted about, under temporary mat shelters, with their packs stacked by their sides, and large herds of cattle were grazing in the distance. The mist rising and falling as it cleared off the valley, gave us beautiful peeps at houses nestled in the orchards, which framed either side of the plain. The whole scene formed an ideal landscape, the realisation of an artist’s dream—a scene to which one would fain recur.

After halting for a quarter of an hour at the monastery in Ban Doo, to bargain with the abbot for some magical and medicinal books, we hurried along to the ford of the Meh Khoke, crossed the river, and were welcomed by our old friend the jo-ja, who still acted as sentinel to the rest-house outside Kiang Hai.

In the account of his journey from Kiang Hsen to Kiang Hai in February 1887, Mr Archer, our consul at Zimmé, brings out the importance of the trade converging at Kiang Hai, and passing over the portion of the route we had traversed to the Burmese Shan States and China, along which we propose the railway to China should be carried. He states that “the road from Ban Me Khi (Meh Kee) to Chienghai (Kiang Hai) is probably the greatest and most important thoroughfare in the whole of the north of Siam, and the traffic here is comparatively very considerable: in the course of a day I passed many caravans of pack-animals, some consisting of a long file of over a hundred bullocks. 210The greater proportion of the traders were Ngios (Burmese Shans) from Chiengtung (Kiang Tung), who came to purchase goods in Chiengmai and Lakhon (Zimmé and Lakon), chiefly cotton goods, iron, and salt. Very few of the Laos (Ping Shans) seem to venture into Chiengtung territory for trading purposes; in fact, it is apparent that the Laos cannot compete with the Ngio and Toungthoo traders and pedlars. This, again, is the route taken by the Ho, or Yunnanese traders, on their yearly trading expeditions to Moulmein (Maulmain).”

In another report Mr Archer gives the route now taken by Chinese caravans from Yunnan to Ootaradit (Utaradit), the city at the head of navigation for large boats on the Meh Nam. He says: “The route followed by this caravan was from Yunnan (Fu) to Puerh, Ssumao, Kiang Hung, Muang Long, Muang Lim, Kiang Hsen, Kiang Hai, Peh, and Utaradit or Tha-It. These caravans come down to Tha-It every year, but the greater part go eastward towards Chieng Mai (Zimmé), and some as far as British Burmah. These traders are pure Yunnanese, and are called Hō by the Siamese.” It is interesting to know that this direct route from Yunnan Fu to Penyow, which lies between Kiang Hai and Peh, passes through the same places as our proposed railway from Maulmain, and will therefore greatly facilitate its survey.

AT KIANG HAI—FEROCIOUS DOG—CHINESE PACK-SADDLES AND MULES—ROUTES FROM CHINA—ARTICLES OF MERCHANDISE—RICHNESS OF KIANG HSEN PLAIN—VISIT THE CHOW HONA—MAN KILLED BY WILD ELEPHANT—CHIEFS WISH FOR RAILWAY—WOULD HELP BY GRANTING WOOD FOR BRIDGES AND SLEEPERS—KAMOOKS FOR LABOURERS—CHINESE SHANS AND CHINESE WOULD FLOCK IN FOR HIRE—EASIEST ROUTE FOR LOOPLINE TO ZIMMÉ —TREES LADEN WITH WOMEN AND CHILDREN—DR M‘GILVARY PURCHASES AN ELEPHANT—RECEIVES PRESENT FROM CHOW HONA—SUNDAY SERVICE—UNSELFISHNESS OF DR M‘GILVARY—LAPOON IMMIGRANTS—DEATH-RATE OF IMMIGRANTS—BOXING—A WOMAN IN CHAINS—LEAVE KIANG HAI—YOUNG ELEPHANTS A NUISANCE—A YELLOW-TURBANED MONK—FIREWORKS—WHISTLING ROCKETS—GIGANTIC ROCKETS AT FUNERALS—A LOVELY LOLO-LAWA WOMAN—SPRING BLOSSOMS—CROSS THE WATER-PARTING BETWEEN THE MEH LOW AND THE MEH ING—HOT SPRINGS—HOUSES ERECTED FOR US—FISHERIES—ARRIVE AT MUANG HPAN—FORMATION OF A SETTLEMENT—EMIGRANTS TO KIANG HSEN IN 1887—PROSPERITY OF COUNTRY—MR ARCHER’S OPINION—THE FATHER OF THE STATE—LIKE A HIGHLANDER—DESERTED CITIES—AN ANCIENT CHRISTIAN—VIANG POO KEN—RAPID DECAY OF BUILDINGS IN A MOIST CLIMATE—ANTS AT WORK—DAMMING STREAMS FOR FISHERIES—INJURY TO DRAINAGE—THE MEH ING A SLUGGISH STREAM—A HARE—OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE—SEARCHING FOR WATER—BOILING MUD TO MAKE TEA—A DISTRESSING MARCH—CITY OF CHAWM TAUNG—A CELEBRATED TEMPLE—BUDDHIST LEGEND—A GOLDEN IMAGE SIXTY FEET HIGH—LEGEND OF PENYOW—A BUDDH FORTY-FIVE FEET HIGH—GAUDAMA EXISTING FORMERLY AS INDRA—A SHAN RACHEL—REACH PENYOW.

Whilst the elephants were being unpacked, I approached the mule-loads of a large Chinese caravan encamped near our sala, to take the dimensions of a pack-saddle. The Yunnanese muleteers were some distance away, squatting on the banks of the river, enjoying their pipes and a chat, having left their 212goods in charge of a fierce Tartar dog, somewhat like a Pomeranian, or rather a cross between a Pomeranian and a wolf. On seeing me touch one of the saddles the dog rushed forward, snapping from all directions. I did not like to strike the dog for doing its duty; I was therefore greatly relieved when the head-man, seeing my dilemma, ran up and called him off. After greeting me, he unloosed the packs from one of the saddles so that I might examine it. It was ingeniously suited to its purpose, and consisted of a light wooden frame formed to the curve of a mule’s back, and had a raised arch in the centre to prevent it from resting on the animal’s spine and thus giving it a sore back. Saddles and packs are securely fastened to each other, and are loaded and unloaded together.

The animals are sagacious and well trained, and come when called. At the time of loading, a saddlecloth is placed on the mule’s back, the saddle with the packs attached is lifted by two men, the animal passes underneath, and the saddle is placed on its back and kept in place by a crupper, and harness embracing the chest and rump. No belly-band is used, and the whole is quickly adjusted. Many small brass bells are placed on the trappings, and the leaders sometimes have a bell shaped out of resonant 213wood, fitted with a clapper, and hung over their heads. The tinkling of the small bells and the clatter of the large ones enable the men to trace their beasts if they stray during a halt, and give warning of their approach to elephant-drivers, so that they may back the elephants from the path, and thus save them from being scared. The only arms carried by this company of Chinese consisted of a couple of ancient horse-pistols and a large iron trident.

The traders from Yunnan generally proceed viâ Ssumao, Kiang Hung, Muang Long, and Muang Lim—places neighbouring the Meh Kong—to Kiang Hai, whence they find their way viâ Zimmé to Maulmain; viâ Penyow and Peh to Ootaradit, or Tha-It, in Siam; and spread by various routes over the Ping Shan States, to purchase raw cotton to carry back on their return journey. Some of the caravans returning from Maulmain sell their European goods at Kiang Tung, proceeding to it along the route traversed in 1837 by M‘Leod. A few of the caravans coming south likewise use this route, in order to dispose of some of the broad-brimmed straw hats they purchase in Yunnan. These hats are supplied with oilskin covers, and sell at Lakon, according to quality, at three rupees and six rupees each. They likewise bring from Yunnan opium, bee’s-wax, walnuts, brass pots, ox bells, silk piece-goods, silk jackets—some of which are lined with fur—silk trousers, figured cloth, and tea. From Kiang Tung they carry lead, dahs or swords, steel in ingots, lacquer-boxes, tea, and opium.

Noticing that the head-man wore a skull-cap of horsehair worked into a handsome lace, which he had bought for a rupee and a half, I purchased it from him for two rupees. On my showing him some black and white kinds of tailor’s thread, he tried their strength, and said that he had never seen any like them before, and when their virtues were known in Yunnan they would have a good sale, as they were much stronger than ordinary cotton-thread.

After breakfast one of the Christians from Ban Meh Kee, who happened to be in Kiang Hai, hearing of our arrival, came to see Dr M‘Gilvary. He said the land in the Kiang Hsen plain was exceedingly fruitful, and that last season he 214received a return of fully 250 baskets of paddy for each basket sown.

Learning that the Chow Hona, or second chief, had returned, we went to call on him. On approaching his house we noticed four ladies winding silk in the verandah, one of whom at once went to call him. After welcoming us warmly, he said a wild elephant had just killed a man close to the city. The man’s companions, on seeing the elephant approach, had clambered up trees, and shouted to him to do likewise. He refused, saying the elephant would not hurt him. After the elephant had passed, they again called to the man, and receiving no answer, searched the jungle, and found his remains quite mashed up. The prince said this elephant was so fearless that it was in the habit of crossing the rice-fields close to the city in broad daylight. The Chow Hluang had issued an order against its destruction, as it was of enormous size, and served as a stallion for his female elephants. His feet, as measured from his footprints, were two feet broad; and therefore, as the height of an elephant equals double the circumference of his feet, his height would be 12 feet and 3 inches, or greater than that of any of the King of Siam’s elephants. There is a general belief amongst the Burmese and Shans that the spirits of human beings who have been slain by an elephant ride on the animal’s head, warning him of his approach to pitfalls and hunters, and guiding him to where he may kill people, so as to add to their own company. It is therefore considered hopeless to even fire at one which has destroyed many men. Tracking a wild elephant on foot is always dangerous, as it is liable to return on its path and attack its pursuers.

We had a long chat with the prince about the proposed railway. He appeared to be a very intelligent man, and although gaunt and ungainly in build, with an awkward gait, possessed great strength, and was evidently very active. His temperament was high-strung, and his black bead-like eyes wandered in every direction with a vigilance that nothing could escape. He seemed much interested in the extension of trade with Burmah, Siam, and China, and said the chiefs and people would be delighted if the railway was 215put in hand. Every help they could give would be gladly rendered; that teak was plentiful in the country, and free permission would certainly be granted to cut it for the sleepers and bridges. As for labour, as many Kamooks as would be required could be hired from Luang Prabang. Their wages for working in the teak-forests were fifty rupees a year and food, and the latter did not cost more than three rupees a month. Gangs of Chinese Shans from the Shan States to the east of Bhamo come every year to work in the Ping Shan States, and could be employed on the railway. Other Shans would doubtless stream in from Yunnan when once it was known that more labour was required, and that good wages would be paid. A great part of the labour in Kiang Tung is carried out by Chinese from Yunnan.

The following day the Chow Hona breakfasted with us. In answer to our inquiries, he said the easiest route from Zimmé to Kiang Hsen was viâ Viang Pow and Muang Fang, crossing the Meh Khoke at Ta Taung, and thence over Loi Kee-o Sa Tai (2650 feet above the sea) to the Meh Chun, and along that river to Ban Meh Kee, where the route joins that which we had taken. A better route we afterwards found would be from Zimmé viâ Muang Ngai; thence up the Meh Pam, and over the Pe Pau Nam (water-parting) into the valley of the Meh Fang. The pass over the water-parting is only 2158 feet above the sea. From Muang Fang this route would follow that indicated by the prince, which was traversed by Mr Archer in 1887. The loop-line could be completed by joining Zimmé with the main line again at Lakon, or, viâ Muang Li, near the mouth of the Meh Wung.

On our returning his call, we found some of the fruit-trees in his garden absolutely laden with women and children picking the fruit, and teeming with laughter and merriment. Dr M‘Gilvary, being very much pleased with the paces of the female elephant I had been riding from Kiang Hsen, had arranged on the journey to purchase it from the mahout, who was its owner, for 500 rupees, and had just learnt that the Chow Hluang, whose serf the owner was, 216had decided to purchase it for 400 rupees, and that the man dare not say him nay. On his telling the Chow Hona of his disappointment, he said he would at once go and expostulate with the chief about it. It was only right that Dr M‘Gilvary should have the animal, as he had made the first and highest offer, and it was not fair that the man should be robbed of 100 rupees. He asked us to stop, and said he would be back in a few minutes. On his return he told us he had been successful; and that the Chow Hluang, who had not previously heard of Dr M‘Gilvary’s offer, had at once given up his claim. As a mark of his friendship for the Doctor, the Chow Hona insisted upon presenting him with a handsome covered howdah for the elephant, and would not hear of payment being made for it. I noticed many similar instances of friendship on the part of the nobles I met on my journeys towards Dr M‘Gilvary, who seems by his utter unselfishness and frank cordiality, and great tact and kindness, to have won the esteem of the people of the country.

On the 30th March, being Sunday, he held a service in the town, and had a large audience of Shans. His delivery is very simple and unaffected. The man is a thorough gentleman at heart, as well as an earnest enthusiast in his mission. The more I saw of him, the more I liked him. I never, during our long journeys together, saw him do a selfish action. When tired, and nearly worn out with insomnia and fever, he sat up late, night after night, to translate for me, because otherwise I could not procure the information I required, as everything had to be packed and the elephants off by daybreak.

Many hundreds of Lapoon immigrants on their way to Kiang Hsen were encamped near our sala, and one morning fully 1000 others crossed the river on their way to Kiang Hsen. It is pitiful to learn from Mr Archer that he was told by the Chow Hluang of Kiang Hsen in 1887, that about a third of the immigrants had died since the foundation of the colony in 1881. In Mr Archer’s words, “The privations the early settlers had to suffer probably increased the mortality; but fever was doubtless engendered 217by clearing the rank vegetation, and will lose much of its virulence when the country is better occupied.”

One morning the mist lifted from the valley of the Meh Khoke, and I was able to sketch the hills stretching thirty miles to the west, or as far as the eye could reach. It was evident that the great rib spurs jutting towards the river from the northern range were very much higher than the backbone from which they sprang: this seems frequently to be the case in the hills between the Meh Kong and the Salween.

Whilst watching a couple of the elephant-drivers boxing with regular boxing-gloves, our old acquaintances the Moosurs came to pay us a visit, and again brought their children with them. It was merely a case of “How-do-you-do?” and “Good-bye,” as we had to go to the Chow-Hluang’s to complain about two of the promised elephants not having arrived. On reaching his house he told us that the wife of the owner 218of the elephants had sent word that the elephants had been scared by a jungle-fire, and had stampeded; that her husband was away after them, and had not yet returned. On our telling the Chow Hona the cause of the delay, he ordered the woman to be brought to the Court-house and put in chains. The elephants were at once brought in, and we were able to start on the morrow.

Next morning, the 31st March, the Chow Hona and Chow Nan Kyow Wong, our companion from Zimmé, came to see us off, and were accompanied by the Chow Phya, or head judge of Kiang Hai, who had been told off to conduct us to Penyow. Six large elephants, two of which had babies with them, had been hired for us, and Dr M‘Gilvary rode the elephant he had purchased. I once more chose an easy-going female elephant for myself, and had the amusement of watching the pranks of its big baby during the march. These young elephants were the source of immense fun, but were an intolerable nuisance to the men on foot, whom they delighted to playfully tumble over like ninepins when the opportunity, for which they were always on the alert, occurred. By half-past six we had said good-bye and left Kiang Hai, which is 183 miles distant from Zimmé by the road we were to take. The mileage on this journey implies the distance from that place, and therefore gets less as we proceed.

Leaving the city by the south gate, we journeyed for ten miles through the plain to the village of Yang Tone, situated on the Meh Low, where we halted for breakfast. Our march led us through or near eleven villages, all of which were embosomed in orchards fringed with beautiful feathery bamboos. On our way we met a caravan of thirty laden cattle, a company of eight Burmese Shans, and a Buddhist monk wearing a huge yellow turban, similar to those worn by the monks in the Chinese Shan States.

219Ban Yang Tone is a large village stretching along the banks of the Meh Low, and contains a fine temple and monastery. On entering the latter, we found the monks and their acolytes making fireworks, amongst which were rockets to be used at an approaching festival. These rockets were formed of a tube of bamboo, 14 inches long and 2 inches in diameter, tied to a light bamboo 15 feet long, the head of which had been turned into a whistle. Ten other whistles, of various lengths and notes, were fastened round the head of the rocket. When fired, the rocket ascends to a great height, and is accompanied by music made by the air rushing through the whistles. Other rockets of great size are made for setting fire to the funeral pyre on which the bodies of monks are burned. According to Mr Scott (Shwé Yoe), in his admirable work ‘The Burman,’ some of these rockets “are of huge size, constructed of the stems of trees hollowed out, and crammed full of combustibles, in which sulphur largely predominates. Many are 8 or 9 feet long and 4 or 5 in circumference, and secured by iron hoops and rattan lashings. Up in Mandalay some are very much larger. These are let off at the funeral pile from a distance of 40 or 50 yards, the largest being mounted on go-carts, and many others guided by a rope fastened to the pyathat, the rocket sliding along by means of twisted cane loops.”

On strolling to the Meh Low, I met two Lolo-Lawa women. One of these would have been taken for a handsome gipsy in England. An artist would have been gladdened by the chance of securing such perfection for his model. The grace of her pose, the faultless symmetry of her person, her fearless aspect, and perfect self-possession, her pleasant voice, and the courteous unconstrained manner in which she answered my questions, bespoke her one of nature’s fairest works. Unluckily I had only the bumptious village elder Portow with me to catechise the woman; 220and a crowd of village boobies soon gathered round, who looked upon the whole matter as a joke, and jeered at the woman and her friend. She soon became justly and proudly irate, and refusing to impart further information, walked disdainfully away. The few words of her vocabulary that I procured, placed it beyond doubt that she was of the same race of Lawas whose villages I had passed in the upper portion of the valley of the Meh Low after leaving Muang Pa Pow. She said that she resided in one of the five Lawa villages that are situated in the basin of the lower portion of the Meh Low, which together contained about a hundred houses.

Leaving the village, we traversed a great rice-plain, and entered a forest of bamboo, in which many teak-trees were scattered. We soon afterwards crossed the Huay Wai, upon which is situated, three hours’ journey up-stream, the ancient city of Viang Wai (the rattan-cane city). Some of our men who made a detour through the city, reported that one of its gateways was still erect, and there were ruins of a temple inside the walls. The forest we now entered was brightened by yellow, orange, and red blossoms, and some of the trees were decked with tender spring foliage. After passing many teak-trees and another village, we crossed the Meh Low, here 300 feet wide and 12 feet deep, with 2 feet of water, and halted for the night at the pretty village of Ban Long Ha. We had travelled 15 miles during the day, and had risen 120 feet since we left Kiang Hai.

The next morning we were off by half-past five, and after skirting an old cut-off bend of the Meh Low (the ow in Low is pronounced as in “cow” in English), crossed the saddles of three small hillocks which mark the water-parting between the Meh Low and Meh Ing. The aneroid marked a fall from our camp to the crest of the saddles; but as there must have been a rise, I have assumed it to be 10 feet. The valleys between the hillocks are inundated to the depth of 3 feet in the rainy season.

Continuing through the vast plain, which, as near as I could judge, averages between 25 and 30 miles in breadth, we halted for the night not far from Ban Poo-ken, the 221headquarters of the governor of the district, which is known as Muang Hpan or Muang Phan.

Referring to this small province in 1887, Mr Archer writes: “Muang Phan, a cluster of villages half-way between Chienghai^[7] (Kiang Hai) and Phayao (Penyow), forms an agreeable contrast to the new settlements farther north. The plain, laid out in rice-fields interspersed with fruit-gardens and villages, is bounded on the west by gently sloping mountains (an isolated hill); the scenery is picturesque, and the general appearance of cultivation and prosperity is most refreshing.

“The former capital of Muang Phan is said to be situated at the foot of the low range of hills which bound the plain on the east, and a new town is now being founded on its site.

“The history of this small province is interesting, as showing in what manner colonies are effected, and how confusing are the boundaries of the different States. The country was evidently deserted during the early part of this century; later, a part of it was occupied by people from Lakhon (Lakon), who, however, afterwards withdrew farther south. About fifty years ago a settlement was made by people from Lamphun (Lapoon), who have since gradually brought the country to its present prosperous condition. Muang Phan is therefore governed by the State of Lamphun, though not adjacent to it; but both Lakhon on the south and Chienghai on the north lay claim to at least a portion of the little province.

“Whilst at Muang Phan, I witnessed another phase in the formation of settlements in this country. The chief of Chiengsen (Kiang Hsen) having received permission to establish in his province a number of the inhabitants of Muang Phan, proceeded, in the language of the country, to drive the people into the new colony. However sound may be this policy of migration, it was impossible not to commiserate the unfortunate people who were thus driven from a comfortable home into a bare, uncultivated country, where 222it would cost them many years of struggle to recover only a portion of their former prosperity. Unable to dispose at so short a notice of their houses, their gardens, and fertile rice-fields, they were compelled to abandon everything that could not be easily transported. I met many of these families, some carrying their children, or perhaps the domestic fowl, in their arms; and some, such few household goods as they were able to remove.

“Muang Phan, as well as the district under Phayao (Penyow) directly to the south, is populous, and appears, indeed, to enjoy greater prosperity than most of the surrounding country. It is well irrigated, and the crops are generally good, while many of the other common necessaries of life are here abundant and cheap. Fish is indeed very plentiful in the extensive lake, or rather marsh, that occupies the centre of the plain, and it forms an important article of export, giving rise to a considerable trade with all the neighbouring States.”

Our proposed railway passes through both Muang Phan (Muang Hpan) and Phayao (Penyow) on its way to Kiang Hsen.

Having erected our tent with the aid of a few bamboos borrowed from the villagers, we sent a messenger to inform the Pau Muang (father of the State), or governor, of our arrival. Soon afterwards he came in and welcomed us, and sat down with us to dinner. He was a powerfully built, grey-haired, massive-headed old gentleman, about 5 feet 10 inches high; and had it not been for his costume and language, might have been taken for a fine old Scotch Highlander.

On receiving notice of our intention to pass through his province, he had set to work collecting transport for us; but only three elephants had as yet been brought in from the district, which, with sixty porters, he hoped would be sufficient to carry us and our baggage. After thanking him for making these arrangements, we said perhaps it would be better that the elephants with us should continue as far as Penyow, in which case we should not require additional means of conveyance. To this our elephant-men were 223agreeable, and thus a burden was taken off the governor’s mind.

He told us many deserted cities existed in his neighbourhood. Viang Poo Ken lay about half a mile west of our camp; Viang How, on the Meh Hsan; another Viang How, on the Meh Ing; Viang Teung (the city of teak-trees), on the Meng Loi; Viang Hsen Kong; and Viang Lau (Viang Law), on the Meh Ing, three days’ journey above Kiang Khong. He then drew a map on the ground with pieces of bamboo and matches, and explained to us the features and lie of the country.

The next day a Christian, eighty years of age, came to visit Dr M‘Gilvary; and Dr Cushing rambled with me through the villages, and strolled under the shade of noble trees, through splendid park-like scenery, to Viang Poo Ken. This deserted city is about half a mile square, and is divided into three compartments. Its outer rampart was 10 feet high, and its ditches 50 feet wide and 10 feet deep. Another fortress, circular, and 400 feet in diameter, crested the top of the hill. No ruins were found in the city and fortress. Buildings built of wood or bamboos, if vacated in a moist climate like that of the Shan States, rot away in a few years, and leave no trace behind them. Even brick and stone buildings, when deserted, are rapidly destroyed by pipal-trees, and crumbling down, are covered with turf in the course of centuries. Those navvies the ants are ever throwing earth over the masonry records of past generations. These workers are nowhere more numerous, and their work is nowhere more speedily accomplished, than in Indo-China.

We left Muang Hpan in the afternoon, and made a short journey of 4½ miles to the Huay Kok Moo (the stream of the hog pens), where we halted for the night—having crossed several small streams and canals all flowing eastward into the Meh Hang, or into the fisheries through which that stream passes on its way to the Meh Poong. Huay Kok Moo itself, however, flows into a large lake-like marsh which serves as a fishery, and forms one of the principal sources of the Meh Ing. A cutting from the latter 224fishery into the Meh Poong, which enters the Meh Ing, would shorten the course of the Meh Ing by 30 miles, and save the Penyow plain from inundation, thus enabling a vast tract of country to be cultivated.

The population being sparse in the State, and not even a tenth of the available land having been taken up for agriculture, the people have thrown dams across some of the streams to turn them and the low-lying country into fisheries, into which shoals of plasoi, or young fish, ascend from the Meh Kong. This river commences to rise in April with the melting of the snow, and is in high flood in July or August. When at its highest, it inundates large tracts of country which serve as breeding-grounds for the fish. As the waters subside, the young fish enter the streams, and appear in dense lines fringing the banks on their way up-stream. The dams are partially removed at the close of the fishing season, to allow fresh fish to enter when they come up-stream to breed. Incalculable harm is being done to the drainage of the country by the fisheries, as the upper courses of the dammed streams will in time silt up, when great expense will be required to relieve the water-logged country. Streams should not be bunded until the end of the rains, and all dams should be removed before they commence.

The haze of the atmosphere, aided by the fires occurring amongst the long grass of the plains, had obscured our view since leaving Kiang Hai; and the plain, except where broken by occasional hillocks, seemed interminable on all sides. The soil was rich, and it was evident that only more inhabitants were required to turn the plain into a vast rice-field.

Leaving camp soon after dawn, we continued for three miles through the grassy plain, crossing the beds of several dry streams and canals, and then entered the extensive rice-fields of Ban Meh Chai, the northern border village of Penyow, which contains 100 houses and a well-kept temple and monastery. According to the head-man of the village, owing to the land having been under cultivation for years, paddy only yields eighty-fold the amount sown in his fields, 225or less than one-third its yield in the newly taken-up land in the Kiang Hsen plain. Eighty-fold, however, is fully double the average yield in Burmah.

After crossing the Meh Chai, in the centre of the village, we skirted the fields for another mile, and crossed the Nong Hang near the site of a witch’s house, which had lately been pulled down, after the occupants had been driven from the village. Two miles farther, we came to and crossed the Meh Ing flowing to the right, close to the village of Ban Mai. This river was here 25 feet wide and 9 feet deep, and had only 1½ foot of water in its bed. It had a barely perceptible current, and flows south as far as Penyow, then doubles round Loi Loo-en and turns north-east on its way to join the Meh Kong. Turning to the east, we followed the plain for two miles to the foot of Loi Loo-en, along which the track continues to Penyow. Loi Loo-en is a pleasantly wooded hill about nine miles long, running nearly north and south, and has formed the site of several cities, some of which I subsequently visited during my stay at Penyow.

A fire was raging in the plain, and a terrified hare, the first I had seen during the journey, raced across the path in front of my elephant. The atmosphere had grown oppressive, and although scarcely eleven o’clock, the thermometer marked 91° in the shade. All were parched with thirst; the boys lagged one foot behind the other, and the men scratched holes in the dry stream-beds, seeking in vain for water. About one o’clock we reached a dry brook having a few muddy puddles in the bed, and determined to halt for breakfast. Half a mile farther would have taken us to the village of Pang Ngao, where we might have got better water, but we were all-unconscious of its existence.

Getting off our elephants, we flung ourselves down under the shade of a great tree, where the temperature was 96°, and waited whilst the men dug holes in the ground in search of pure water. None was to be found, so at length the boys set to work to boil some liquid mud to make our tea. Such tea, when made, we had not the stomach to drink, and could therefore only rinse our mouths.

The march had been very distressing both to the elephants 226and men, and it was well that Penyow, where we were to rest, was only three miles distant. We started again, continuing to skirt the hill, and about three-quarters of a mile from Penyow passed the site of the ancient city of Chaum Taung, which is divided into three compartments by the usual ramparts and ditches. A little farther we came to one of the most sacred places of pilgrimage in the Shan States, Wat Phra Chow Toon Hluang (the temple of the great sitting Buddha), and scrambled down from our elephants to inspect it.

The walls were of plastered brickwork, and the beautiful roof rose in five graceful tiers to a great height. On entering the temple, we saw a colossal image of Gaudama 60 feet high, measuring 26¼ feet across the hips, with hands 6½ feet long. Great pieces of yellow cloth, interwoven with tinsel, covered the chest, and many tawdry banners were suspended over and around the image, which is said to be of pure gold, but doubtless has been formed of brick, and overlaid with the usual plaster and gold-leaf.

The legend of the temple runs as follows: At the time when Gaudama Buddha was proceeding from Kiang Hai to Penyow, he arrived at Loi Loo-en, where he met a yak or ogre, who attacked and wished to devour him. Avoiding the attack, the Buddh stamped on the ground, impressing a Phra Bat or Buddha’s footprint, and revealed himself to the yak. At the foot of the mountain he saw an old couple, husband and wife, clearing the trees to form a garden. These people, having nothing better to offer, reverently presented the Buddh with the stone mortar in which they crushed their betel-nut. Buddh therefore foretold that the country in future should be noted for its stone utensils.

On his reaching the site of Viang Chaum Taung, a goldsmith, seeing the Buddh, came forward with an offering of rice, and poured it into the Buddh’s begging-bowl. Wishing to quench his thirst whilst eating the rice, Gaudama 227sent An-nōn (Ananda, his favourite disciple) to the pond, which included the site of the temple. Phya Nyak, the king of the dragons, would not allow the water to be taken. On learning this, Buddh exclaimed, “The three last Buddhs, Ka-Koo Senta (Kaukasan), Ko-Na Kamana (Gaunagone), and Kakapa (Kathabah), have visited this place and eaten rice.” He then became gigantic, swelling to the size of Ko-Na Kamana, and stepping on the head of Phya Nyak, pressed him down into the water, and thus made him aware that he was a Buddh. The king of the dragons at once procured a stone for Buddh to sit on whilst bathing and drinking. Incensed at water having been refused to him, Buddh prophesied that the country should be without river-water in the hot season. He then ordered Phya In (Indra) and Phya Nyak, that after his entering Neiban (the state of eternal rest), and half of his dispensation of 5000 years had elapsed, they should take gold, and offer it to the old people who had made offerings to him, and who would be reborn on the same spot, and instruct them to make an image of him with the gold in the middle of the pond: the image to be of the size of Ko-Na Kamana. Having finished prophesying, he left Penyow.

The old people, it is believed, after passing through three existences, were reborn at Penyow, and made the image in Wat Phra Chow Toon Hluang. The ditches round the three cities of Viang Chaum Taung are said to have been 228dug by yaks, or ogres, whilst Buddh was resting in it eating the rice and waiting for Ananda to bring him water.

On reaching Penyow (Panyow or Phayao), Buddh summoned the people to listen to his preaching. The men, who were clearing the fields with long knives, at once hurried to him with their implements in their hands. Buddh, looking at them with astonishment, exclaimed, “Pahn Yow!” (what long knives!); thence the place is known as Pahn Yow or Penyow.

Another city, called Viang Moo Boon, situated two days’ journey to the south-east of Penyow, is said to have had its trenches and ramparts marked out by a sacred dog, and executed by nyaks or dragons. According to some Buddhist books which give histories of twenty-four Buddhs who preceded Gaudama (Sakya Muni), who is the only Buddh known to history, the twenty-third Buddh lived as a layman for 3000 years, and was 45 feet high; the twenty-fourth Buddh lived 20,000 years, and was 30 feet high; and Gaudama, the twenty-fifth Buddh, had existed for 100,000 ages when he was retranslated to the earth. For 36,500 years he existed as Indra, the great king of the Dewas, after which time, being desirous to save mankind, he passed through a course of existences on this world, the history of which is given in the 510 Zahts or Jatakas.

A quarter of an hour after leaving the temple, we were gladdened by the sight of a Shan Rachel drawing water from a well close to the city walls. How often she drew water for the men, and willingly and laughingly offered it to the thirsty souls, who seemed as if they would never be satisfied, I cannot tell. She did so as long as it was required, and then, after letting them draw some for the elephants, walked jauntily off with her bamboo buckets swinging in either hand.

We then entered the city, and halted at the court-house, under a magnificent tarapeuk tree, covered with great dangling blossoms, which from a distance looked like cattail 229orchids. Although half-past five when we halted, the temperature was still 91°. This was by far the hottest march we had made; and the glare and dust, joined with thirst, and constant peering at my instrument, made my eyes and head ache so that I could hardly keep to my work. It was getting dark when we arrived.

Muang Penyow is situated in the great elbow-curve made by the Meh Ing, and lies 130 miles from Zimmé, at a height of 1266 feet above the sea.

SETTLED BY LAKON—POPULATION—SMALLPOX—TUTELARY SPIRITS—ANCIENT CITIES—TRADE-ROUTES AND COST OF TRANSPORT—THE CENTRE OF PING STATES—A LAKON PRINCE—VIEWS ABOUT RAILWAY—SMALLPOX RAGING—CALLOUSNESS OF NATIVES—DR CUSHING INFECTED—DESERTED CITIES—FAMOUS FOR POTTERY—GAMBLING CURRENCY—GAMBLING GAMES IN SIAM—FIGHTING CRICKETS, FISH, AND COCKS—COCK-CROWING IN INDO-CHINA—VARIATION IN TIMES OF NEW YEAR—GAMBLING MONOPOLY IN SIAM—PROCLAMATION OF THE KING—GAMBLING CHIEF CAUSE OF SLAVERY—PARENTS SELLING CHILDREN INTO SLAVERY—SLAVERY NOT ABOLISHED—PROCLAMATION ISSUED TO DELUDE FOREIGNERS—POSITION OF PEOPLE DAILY GROWING WORSE—A MONEY-LENDER BUYING INJUSTICE FROM PRINCES AND NOBLES—ENCOURAGING GAMBLING—GAMBLING-HOUSE JAILS—STATE OF SIAMESE GOVERNMENT MONOPOLIES—EFFECT OF CORVÉE LABOUR—BURDENSOME TAXATION—NO JUSTICE—GENERAL DEMORALISATION—SHAN STATES BETTER GOVERNED.

On our reaching Penyow, the Chow Phya, who was conducting us, went to the governor to announce our arrival, and we were assigned the court-house for our habitation; but as it was far from waterproof, we put up at a sala near the south wall. It would have been better to have camped near the temple outside the city, for during our stay our water had to be fetched from the well we had passed near the entrance-gate. The water drawn from the only well inside the city was nauseous and undrinkable, and the Meh Ing, which winds round three sides of the town, looked like a foul sewer, black with mud and filth held in solution. The current in the stream was barely perceptible.

In the morning we called on the governor, who has the title of Chow Hluang, or Great Prince—a pleasant old gentleman, who received us most courteously, and kept us 231in conversation for about an hour. He told us his Muang was resettled by Lakon, and is a sub-State of that principality. It contained 4820 houses, 300 of which were in the city. Each house on an average contained eight inhabitants: this average would give the Muang a population of 38,560 souls. Paddy, he said, yielded in his district a hundred-fold on well-irrigated land, and eighty-fold on land subject to drought or inundation.

After the chief had recounted the Buddhist legends, previously given, Dr Cushing was so disgusted at seeing him fondling his young son, who was covered with smallpox scabs, that he bade adieu. On passing me, he whispered that there were four cases of smallpox in the family. Dr M‘Gilvary kindly stopped on to the end of the interview, as I wished to learn about the trade-routes and geography of the country.

The Pee, or tutelary god, of the Muang,^[8] is Chow Kam Doeng, the spirit of an ancient Lawa king who formerly ruled in Penyow: his predecessor is said to have been Phya Choo-ang.

The ancient cities whose names are known, situated in the chief’s jurisdiction, include Viang Tum, Viang Tom, Viang Muang, Viang Heang, Viang Chaum Taung, Viang Poo Lam, and Viang Meh Ta Lat. Besides these, the following lie outside the district: Muang Teung to the west of Loi Mun Moo, between it and the Meh Wung; and Viang Moo Boon and Viang Kyow, two days’ journey to the south-east. The journey over Loi Mun Moo to the Meh Wung, and thence along the valley of the Meh Wung to Lakon, takes eight and a half days; the journey to Zimmé by the Loi Sa-ket pass, takes five days; and the journey to Kiang Khong, on the Meh Ing near its junction with the Meh Kong, is done by elephants in six days.

With reference to the export of rice from Penyow to Lakon, which was suffering from drought, the chief told me 232that the cost of carriage for an elephant load of 266 lb. over the distance of 71 miles, was 13 rupees and 8 annas, which, at an exchange of 1s. 5d. to the rupee, is equivalent to a charge of 2s. 3d. a ton per mile. As rice is carried by train in Burmah for a halfpenny a ton per mile, the cost of elephant carriage is fifty-four times as expensive. Dried fish taken to Zimmé fetch double the Penyow price.

In Mr Archer’s report, he notes the importance of Penyow as the seat of a large fishing industry, and as a station “on the important route from Chienghai (Kiang Hai) to the southern Lao provinces. This town may well be called the centre of the Lao (Ping Shan) country, for it is situated at an equal distance of six days’ march from nearly all the important places in the five States: Chiengmai (Zimmé), Chiengsen (Kiang Hsen), Nan, Phrë (Peh), and Lakhon (Lakon).”

On returning to our sala, we found Chow Rat, one of the princes of Lakon, who with his attendants was encamped outside the city, had come to pay us a visit. He, like all the princes of the Ping States whom I met, was free from awkwardness and affectation, courteous and well-mannered, and seemed anxious to oblige us by all the means in his power. He was evidently a highly intelligent man, and became much interested in the proposed railroad. After going fully into the matter, he said that the Ping princes would certainly do all in their power to facilitate its construction. Trade was as life-blood to the chiefs and people, and such a line would greatly increase the trade and wealth of the country. I had many talks with Chow Rat before we left for Zimmé, and he gave me a good deal of information about the country.

At the time of our arrival, smallpox had been raging in the city for twelve days, and had caused the death of seventy people. We visited house after house, and the disease seemed to be everywhere. Five and six deaths occurred each day during our stay: the pitiful screaming of the children suffering from the fell disease was heartrending. The deep boom of the chief’s gong, the finest-toned one that I ever heard, sounded nightly at about eleven o’clock, when the bodies were taken from the city for interment.

233Our servants and followers were utterly callous of the possibility of contagion—they had most likely all had the disease; and notwithstanding our injunctions to the contrary, ate and slept in infected houses. Had I been aware of the state of the city, I would have camped near the well at the entrance-gate. I have little doubt that Dr Cushing was infected with the disease whilst being shampooed by one of the interpreters, who had been sleeping and taking his meals at a house in which there were two or three cases of the disease.

One day we strolled through the remains of two deserted cities, situated in a park-like forest neighbouring Penyow. Viang Meh Ta Lat lies adjacent to the town, and was built in two or three compartments. It contains ruins of temples and pagodas, and is upwards of a mile long. Viang Poo Lam, which lies to the north-east of Viang Meh Ta Lat, is surrounded by double ramparts, with a ditch separating them. The ditch is 60 feet in width at the top, 15 feet at the bottom, and 20 feet deep from the crest of the inner rampart, which is 5 feet high, and 15 feet from the outer rampart, which is 10 feet high.

Amongst the ruins we came across several fine images of Buddha cut out of stone; and near one of the pagodas, saw some octagonal tiles, which measured 2 feet across, and were 2 inches thick—the largest I have seen in Indo-China. The neighbourhood must have been famous at one time for its pottery, for besides the tiles, I found the remains of a large 234and handsomely executed terra-cotta image and pedestal in the grounds of one of the monasteries in the city. The mutilated supporters to the pedestal are elephants and eagles, the latter representing “Garuda,” the sacred bird of Vishnu, in the Hindoo Pantheon, which was the mortal foe of the nagas or dragons, and all the snake race. Whilst rambling about these cities I became nearly clothed with caterpillars—whether of the silk-worm or not I do not know—which were dangling in myriads by long threads from the branches of the trees.

On our return, Jewan came to me with a long face, complaining that the people in the town had given him some pieces of pottery instead of change, and asked what he should do. On looking at them I found they were octagonal in shape, and stamped on one side with Chinese letters. After showing them to Dr M‘Gilvary, he said they were the ordinary gambling currency of the place, and represented two-anna and four-anna pieces. It appears that the gambling monopolist has the right to float them, and they are in general use amongst the people as small change. They remain current as long as the Chinese monopolist is solvent or has the monopoly. If he loses it, he calls the tokens in by sending a crier round, beating a gong and informing the people that he is ready to change the tokens for money. Dr M‘Gilvary said that such tokens formed the sole small change at Zimmé before the Bangkok copper currency supplanted them.

In every village throughout Siam may be found common gambling-houses. These houses are usually built of bamboo; the entire front being of unsplit bamboo placed perpendicularly, 235every other one extending not more than four feet from the ground. This plan enables those passing to see what is going on inside, and is evidently intended as a bait. Everything is done to attract people to the den. Musicians and play-actors are hired and separated from the gamblers by a paper screen, with lamplight on the side of the performers, behind which a man is employed making shadow puppet-shows for the amusement of the spectators. A great gong is beaten, men utter unearthly sounds through horns, and the discord is made more complete by the grating notes of various stringed instruments and unmusical human voices. Play usually begins late in the afternoon, and lasts far into 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 weary with gambling or temporarily dispirited, the Siamese retire to watch the musicians and play-actors. The gambling in Siam consists, besides lotteries, of the mat game, the brass-cup game, the fish, shrimp, and crab game, and games at cards, which are conducted as follows:—

The Mat Game.—The gambling is conducted on one general plan, which is subject to certain modifications, probably for the sake of variety, lest the gamblers should weary of the monotony of a single method. A large mat, twelve or fifteen feet square, is placed on the floor. On this mat are two lines forming a rectangular cross. The four angles made by the two lines are marked respectively 1, 2, 3, 4. The proprietor sits on the mat in the angle marked 4, and has near him a pile of cowries (small shells formerly used as money in Siam). From this pile he takes a double handful. The gamblers place their money on any one of the numbers they choose. We will suppose there are but four playing, and that each places a tical on a different number.

After the players have put down their stakes, the proprietor counts out his double handful of shells into fours, and notes the remainder. If there is a remainder of two, the man who placed his money on No. 2 doubles his money. No. 4 loses his, while Nos. 1 and 3 neither lose nor win. If there is a remainder of 1, No. 1 doubles his money, No. 3 236loses, Nos. 2 and 4 neither lose nor win. But there may be twenty or thirty playing. The principle is the same. All whose money is on the number representing the remainder, after counting out the fours, double their money; while all on the opposite numbers lose, and the other two numbers neither lose nor win. If the shells amount to even fours, No. 4 wins.

There is one modification of this game. The gamblers may place their money on the diagonal line between 2 and 3: then if there is a remainder of 2 or 3, that money is doubled; while if there is a remainder of 1 or 4, it is lost. In this case the chances both of gaining and losing are doubled.

In many of the gambling-houses smaller mats are used, and there are then several modifications of the game, according to the position of the money laid down. But the principle of the game is the same as that already described. The proprietors of these gambling-houses issue the porcelain money that we see in the market, which, when they are unable to redeem it, becomes absolutely worthless.

The Brass-cup Game.—In this game the proprietor has a square brass cup, in which he places a cube of wood. One-half of one face of the cube is white and the other half red. The cube is put into the cup, which is then inverted on the mat or table, and gamblers place their money opposite any one of the four sides they choose. The cup is then removed, the cube remaining with the painted face uppermost. The money opposite the white wins, three for one, and the other three sides lose.

The Fish, Shrimp, and Crab Game.—While passing along the street one often sees an old man with a crowd of boys about him. He has a board before him, in size about 18 by 20 inches, and divided by lines into six equal oblong squares. In one of these squares is the picture of a fish, in another of a shrimp, in another of a crab, &c. The man has a cocoa-nut shell, in which are three large wooden dice, on the faces of which are pictures corresponding to those on the board. The boys place their pieces of money on any picture they choose. The proprietor rattles his dice in the 237shell, and then inverts it on the board. All who have money on the pictures corresponding to the upper faces of the dice, win; all the rest lose.

Card Games.—The cards used in gambling are about one inch by three. These are marked to represent kings, governors, officers, soldiers, &c. A full pack contains 116 cards, and the principle of the game seems to be similar to that of games of cards in more enlightened countries.

The alphabet of gambling is learned by Siamese children nearly as soon as they can run alone. They are seen pitching their coppers in the street, according to rules they seem to understand, and their parents are often among the most interested spectators. The appetite for gambling is likewise fostered by the universal custom of fighting crickets, fish, and cocks, and the Government allows all classes to gamble without a licence during the three days the festivities of the New Year last.

Siamese children have few pets, and those they have are used for fighting. Just at sunset the boys may be seen searching 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. When they have collected a good number, the boys gather together in the evening and put all their crickets into a large box. Then commences a general scrimmage. Cricket meets cricket, as Greek met Greek, and the excited boys bet every copper in their possession on the one they think likely to win.

Small fish, called needle-fish, are also used for this sport. Two fish are put into separate bottles. The moment the bottles are brought together, the fish begin snapping, but of course cannot reach each other. Sometimes a looking glass is held before one, and it is amusing to see how angry it will become. This passion for mimic fights grows in the boys; and when they become young men, they spend most of their time at cock-pits, where nearly all their betting is done. The cocks in Indo-China resemble small game-cocks, and crow four times in the twenty-four hours—at midnight, dawn, noon, and sundown,—and thus serve to note the time.

238In Siam, not including the Ping and Lao Shan States upwards of £100,000 is paid by the Chinese gambling monopolists for their licences. Five-ninths of this amount comes from the lottery-holders, and four-ninths from the gambling-houses. Nine-tenths of the monopolists sublet their farms, making from 15 to 20 per cent profit: 2 per cent of the money paid by the monopolists is said to be a private perquisite of the King of Siam.

In his proclamation, “concerning the limitation of the ages of the children of slaves and of free people,” issued in 1874, the King of Siam declared: “With reference to gambling and all games of chance, where money is lost and won, it is a prolific source of slavery. These subjects have his Majesty’s best thoughts as to their eventual termination. They now yield a revenue of 11,000 catties (528,000 dollars), which is regularly expended in defraying the expenses of the Government. If gambling were completely abolished, there would not be enough at the command for Government and military purposes to meet the deficit that would be occasioned by such abolition. This subject, however, his Majesty has presented for the deliberation of the council, and when definite conclusions have been arrived at they will be made known to the public.” Fourteen years have elapsed since this proclamation was issued, during which time no further action has been taken in the matter. The king still draws revenue from the monopolists. The monopolists can still force the Prai-luangs, who form the majority of the inhabitants of Siam, to sell themselves, together with their wives and families; can still force freemen to sell their children, without the children’s consent up to the age of fifteen, and with the children’s consent up to the time that they reach their twenty-first year.

To explain this clearly, and to show the present state of slavery in Siam, I will here quote Articles 6, 7, 8, and 11 of the law passed by the king in 1874, which has not been rescinded:—

“Art. 6. If any of the people who are now free, having had no trouble necessitating their becoming slaves, should subsequently become involved, and the father, mother, the paternal grandfather, 239grandmother, the maternal grandfather, grandmother, uncles, aunts, elder brothers or sisters, be inclined to sell their children or relatives that were born in the year of the Major Dragon, tenth of the decade (A.D. 1868), (as the starting-point)—if less than fifteen years old, they may do so only temporarily (until they reach their twenty-first year)—and allow their services to the purchaser in lieu of interest, inserting their names in the bill of sale of the purchaser, with or without the knowledge of the person sold, the sale is valid according to the laws of the land, because the father, mother, and elder relatives are paramount, &c.

“Art. 7. If a child or a relative that has been born since the year of the Major Dragon, tenth of the decade (A.D. 1868), has attained any age between the fifteenth and twentieth year—that is, knows the difference between right and wrong—and the parents or elder relatives wish to sell and give their services to the purchaser in lieu of interest, and the seller places that person’s name in a bill of sale, the party so doing must inform the person to be sold, that he may know and see the transaction, and attach his name to the instrument in confirmation thereof, to give it validity, and make it available to the purchaser: his valuation, however, shall be according to the rates of the present laws. If the person sold neither knows of nor saw the transaction, and has not appended, nor hired, nor asked others to write his name to the instrument, he cannot be regarded as a slave.

“Art. 8. If the child of a slave or of a free person born in the year of the Major Dragon, as the starting-point, has reached the twenty-first year of his or her age, should the parents or the relatives or the persons themselves become embarrassed and involved, and apply to sell such persons, offering their personal services in lieu of interest on the purchase-money, all moneyed people and property holders are hereby absolutely forbidden to purchase them as slaves, &c.

“Art. 11. All persons under obligation to the Government known as Prai-luangs,^[9] soldiers, artisans, labourers, miners, provincials, attamahts; those whose freedom has been forfeited to the State for crimes against the laws,^[10] royal domestics, labourers at the 240Government rice-mills, Government weavers, silk manufacturers, female guards of the inner apartments of the palace, and the distributors and objects of royal charities; all people under obligation to the Government, and known as Kon-hluangs, who clandestinely and fraudulently allow their names to be entered into bills of sale, pledging their personal services in lieu of interest to the purchaser, if they have children born to them in the house of the money-master from and since the year of the Major Dragon, tenth of the decade, and those children have attained the twenty-first year of their age,—in all these cases let the money-master make known the circumstances to the Krom Pra Surasadee, that the real Government master may have him tattooed and designated to his proper group, the group to which his father and mother belonged, so that when off required (Government) duty he may serve his money-master, and when on required duty he may serve his Government master, according to the original laws.”

As the majority of the non-Chinese inhabitants of Siam are included among the above-mentioned classes, and there is no penalty for their selling themselves and their children clandestinely and fraudulently as slaves; and as the money-masters are told that they can keep them as slaves, and the original laws will apply to them and their children so long as they are permitted by their money-masters to serve the Government for three months in the year as Government slaves,—the law affords no protection to these people, and was evidently not meant to be a protection to them. The law was, in fact, merely enacted and published by the king in order to throw dust into the eyes of foreign nations, so that they might imagine him to be an enlightened and civilised monarch. I was only lately assured by gentlemen residing in Bangkok that slavery was never more prevalent in Siam than it is at the present time.

Instead of improving the position of the majority of the people, the law of 1874 makes it considerably worse; for the former law of A.D. 1787 states—“It is well known that registered slaves are exempt from monthly service to the Government. Government can demand their services only 241when there is war.” For the future, the Government will be able to demand their services for three months in the year, during which time they will have to provide their own lodging and food, and during the remaining nine months they will have to serve their money-masters, and their children will have to bear the same burdens and servitude.

The usual method employed by money-masters in Siam wishing to retain bond-slaves who wish to pay off their debts and regain their freedom, is fully explained by a proclamation that was issued by the late king in 1867, which runs as follows:—

“Proclamation of his Majesty Somdetch Pra Shaum Klow, the 4th of the present Dynasty. About the Merchant Bahng Mew.

“His Majesty issued a royal mandate to be proclaimed and published to all the princes and Government officials without and within, and to the people of the capital and of the provinces, north and south, for general information, about the merchant Bahng Mew, whose official title is Kun Penit Wohahn.

“He is truly a rich man, but he is tortuous. He is tricky in words and in litigation. His Majesty has really detected his artifice, his tortuousness, and lack of honesty. He has no compassion on the common people, who are his debtors and slaves, who are desirous of paying their indebtedness and the moneys advanced in purchasing them.

“When money is offered to him, he will not receive it, and contends about the necessities of the seasons. ‘Waters are worked for fish, and fields for grain.’ If it happens to be the 4th or 5th lunation, he is invisible, cannot be seen. If it happens to be the 10th or 11th lunation, he offers sundry excuses, and for three years he has evaded receiving proffered payments.

“The slaves have poured out their complaints and deposited their payments at the courts. He makes interest with the legal officers, and has evaded receiving his money for more than three and four years. A number of other persons also have poured forth their complaints of wrongs received from his Satee (Chetty, a banker and money-lender) Bahng Mew, and because he is wealthy he has confused the legal officers.

“He has access also to princes and nobles, who support him in his wrongs. This royal mandate is issued to be made known to the princes, nobles, and Government officials within and without, forbidding all to give him any further support in his practices. 242If they persist in backing him up, they will no longer be objects of royal favour. Given, Saturday, 1st of the waxing, 6th lunation, year of the Rabbit, 8th of the decade, Siamese civil era, 1229 (May 4, 1867).”

Returning to the subject of gambling. The latest law dealing with it was issued in 1794. In the previous reign an Act had been passed whereby the gambling-house keepers were not allowed to advance money for gambling purposes to the people. This caused a great falling off in the amounts paid to Government for the monopolies. The law of 1794 states that—

“When his Majesty ascended the throne, having quelled all commotions, he was graciously pleased to revise the laws. What it was befitting should be retained, were left as before. What was not fitting, was abrogated; but this (former) proclamation on gambling was not repealed, because his Majesty was graciously disposed towards the common people, who were biassed by avaricious desires, because the managers of the gambling establishments trusted them and allowed them to get into debt, even though they had not at their homes the means of meeting their liabilities—still the managers trusted them; but they did not think of their children and wives, but borrowed from the managers, played, and were trusted. When their losses increased, and the managers arrested them and enforced payment, they were obliged to borrow, run in debt, sell their wives and children, and submit to many hardships.

“With these facts in view that proclamation was allowed to stand, that the players might play only to the extent of their means. At the present time, however, the players have greatly diminished, have been impoverished more than in former times, and the royal revenue has diminished withal. The holders of the royal patents and the managers of the gambling establishments perceive that there are no players, and they fear they will not be able to meet their Government liabilities.”

Further on the Act goes on to state—

“The former law cannot longer be retained, and is therefore abolished. Henceforth if players enter a gambling establishment to play, and are in want of wherewith to play, and wish to borrow the money, or the current pieces of crockery belonging to the gambling establishment, to stake as wagers, let the gambling farmer or his agents in charge of the establishment form an approximate estimate of the ability of the player, and lend him 243accordingly, and only allow him to play within his approximate ability, and the power of the gambling establishment to collect, as in the last reign.”

After indicating the amounts that may be safely lent, which includes six dollars to a female who comes without ornaments or attendants, it continues—

“Again, players come to play at a gambling establishment who have no money of their own: they do not at first borrow from the manager, but take part in a play and lose, and having the money obstruct the interest of the game in the height of their excitement, and cause a delay of the fees: in such cases let the manager and his collectors remove the difficulty and make the necessary advances, remove the loser who does not pay, bind and fetter and enforce payment, according to the power granted to the gambling establishment. If the money is not obtainable from the party, make him or her over to the general farmer, and let him enforce payment to the particular manager.”

The farmer has his own jails, where he can keep debtors in fetters, until they clandestinely and fraudulently pay their debt, by selling themselves and their children to him as slaves.

If it were not for slavery, serfdom, vexatious taxation, and for the vices of the people, the Siamese might be a happy race. Living as they do chiefly upon vegetables and fish; in a country where every article of food is cheap; where a labourer’s wages are such as to enable him to subsist upon a fourth of his earnings; where a few mats and bamboos will supply him with materials for a house sufficient to keep out the rays of the tropical sun and the showers in the rainy season; where little clothing is needed, and that of a cheap and simple kind; where nine-tenths of the land in the country is vacant, without owners or inhabitants,—surely such a people might be contented and happy. The land is so fertile and the climate is so humid, that every cereal and fruit of the tropics grows there to perfection. Yet among the common people it is seldom a man or woman can be found who is not the slave of the wealthy or the noble.

The Government battens on the vices of the people 244by granting monopolies for gambling, opium, and spirits. Government places the people under unscrupulous and tyrannical Government masters—merciless, heartless, and exorbitant leeches—who, unless heavily bribed, force the peasantry to do their three months’ corvée labour at times and seasons that necessarily break up all habits of industry, and ruin all plans to engage in successful business.^[11]

Government imposes taxes upon everything grown for human requirements in the country; fishing-nets, stakes, boats, spears, and lines are all taxed. The Government net is so small that even charcoal and bamboos are taxed to the extent of one in ten, and firewood one in five, in kind. Fancy the feelings of an old woman, after trudging for miles to market with a hundred sticks of firewood, when twenty of the sticks are seized by the tax-gatherer as his perquisite! There is a land-tax for each crop of annuals sown, and paddy and rice are both subject to tax; so that three taxes can thus be reaped from one cereal. The burdensome taxation is levied in the most vexatious manner that can be conceived; for the taxes are let out to unscrupulous Chinamen, who are thus able to squeeze, cheat, and rob the people mercilessly. It is no use appealing from the tax-gatherer to the officials. Money wins its way, and justice is unknown in Siam. Every one who has not a friend at Court is preyed upon by the governors and their rapacious underlings.

Such being the present state of Siam, one is not surprised to learn that the majority of its inhabitants, besides being slaves and selling their children, are libertines, gamblers, opium smokers or eaters, and given to intoxicating beverages. No amount of earnings will bear these heavy strains upon their industry and their purse. The effect of over-taxation 245has been showing itself of late years in the import of betel-nuts, bee’s-wax, cocoa-nuts, molasses, and other articles, which were formerly exported. The effect of sapping the morals of the people by encouraging gambling, opium smoking and eating, and spirit-drinking, is displayed by their present state of degradation.

Nowhere in the Shan States is misgovernment and oppression of the people so rampant as in Siam. Taxation in the Shan States is exceedingly light; and the people are not placed under grinding Government masters, but have the power to change their lords at their will; they are not compelled to serve for three months in the year without receiving either wages or food; amongst them gamblers, opium smokers, and drunkards are looked down upon and despised; and libertinism is nearly unknown. The only loose women seen by me in the Shan States were a few Siamese, who had taken up their quarters at Zimmé, the headquarters of the Siamese judge. Siam, in comparison with the Ping Shan States, is as pest-ridden Penyow, situated on its sluggish and fetid streams, to the healthy city of Muang Ngow, on its beautiful clear-flowing river, that we were about to visit.

LEAVE PENYOW—WILD ROSES—AN INUNDATED COUNTRY—ROYAL FUNERAL BUILDINGS—POSTS TWO HUNDRED FEET LONG—COLLECTION AND USES OF WOOD-OIL—DESCRIPTION OF DAILY MEALS—WATER-PARTING BETWEEN THE MEH KONG AND MEH NAM—PATH FOR RAILWAY—A DEAD FOREST—REACH MUANG NGOW—SETTLED BY LAKON—KAREN VILLAGES—TEAK-FORESTS—FOUR THOUSAND BURMESE DESTROYED—A DISTRIBUTING CENTRE FOR MUANG NAN AND MUANG PEH—DEFICIENT RAINFALL—BURMESE PEDLARS—IMMIGRANTS FROM KIANG HUNG-A TERRIBLE DIN—THE ECLIPSE—BUDDHIST LEGEND—ELEPHANTS SHOULD REST AFTER NOON DURING HOT SEASON—LEAVE MUANG NGOW—RAILWAY FROM BANGKOK TO KIANG HUNG CROSSES NO HILL-RANGE—BATTLE-FIELD—THE STONE GATE—WATER-PARTING BETWEEN THE MEH NGOW AND MEH WUNG—A JOLTING ELEPHANT—BAN SA-DET—OFFERINGS FOR THE MONKS—PRESENTS FOR THE CHILDREN—THE BUDDHIST LENT—LIGHTS FOR EVIL SPIRITS—THE DEMON’S LENT—OFFERINGS TO THE NAIADS—ILLUMINATING THE RIVER—KING OF SIAM LIGHTING FIREWORKS—SCARING THE SPIRITS—OFFERINGS TO NAIADS AND DEMONS IN CASE OF SICKNESS—TRIAL BY WATER—SUPERSTITION AGAINST SAVING DROWNING FOLK—DESCENT OF THE RAIN-GOD INDRA—LIBATIONS—THE WATER-FEAST—BATHING THE IMAGES—SCENE IN THE TEMPLE—WAKING THE GODS WITH WATER—PROPITIATING THE LAWA GENII—THE WARMING OF BUDDH—A DOUSING—A COMPLIMENT—CALLING THE SPIRITS TO WITNESS—LEAVE BAN SA-DET—RUBY-MINES—REACH LAKON.

We were detained at Penyow from the 3d to the 8th of April, waiting the arrival of a fresh relay of elephants. The elephants had been turned out for the hot season to graze in the forests, and had to be tracked for long distances before they could be captured. At length, when four elephants had been brought in, Chow Rat, the Lakon prince, kindly lent us two of his own animals; and we thus, with 247Dr M‘Gilvary’s elephant, and twenty porters, had as much transport as we required.

During our stay the Chow Hluang furnished us with rice and fowls, and the day before we left, to our great joy sent us the fore quarters of a pig. Never was roast-pork more enjoyed by mortal beings.

Leaving Penyow the next morning about seven o’clock, we crossed the Meh Ing, which runs near the south gate of the city. The bed of the river at our ford was saucer-shaped, 80 feet wide, and 5 feet deep in the centre, and contained 1 foot of water, which was covered with a thick yellow slime, that emitted an unpleasant odour. After passing a great clump of rose-bushes, bearing ordinary tea-roses, we entered a plain covered with elephant grass and bamboo jungle, which is inundated to a depth of 5 or 6 feet in the rains.

Three-quarters of a mile from the city we left the low ground, and crossing the Meh Hong Sai, the brook of clear water, entered the rice-plain of Ban Meh Sai. This village is inhabited by people who have been turned out of other places in the district, under the accusation of witchcraft.

Near the village we noticed many padouk and pyngado logs, which had been dragged there for the purpose of building a temple and monastery.

Beyond the fields we entered a bamboo jungle, through which our elephants had to force their way by breaking down the bamboos and small trees, and snapping off such branches and twigs as would interfere with the howdah. It is surprising how docile these great animals are, and how sagaciously they obey the orders given them by their drivers. We halted for breakfast at a house that had been built for us in the pretty village of Meh Hong Khum, which is situated on a stream of the same name.

After breakfast, we visited the temple and monastery, where we found the priests busy making rockets for the approaching eclipse, and then continued through the forest to the village of Ban So. Thence proceeding through a slightly rolling country, where several small streams take their rise, we camped for the night under the shade of a 248great kanyin tree, near the Meh Na Poi, which enters the Meh Ing. We had risen 350 feet in 12 miles since leaving Penyow.

The kanyin (or oil-tree), under which we erected our tent, had it been on an affluent of the Meh Nam, might have been chosen for one of the main posts of a Pramene, or Royal Siamese cremation temple. When a king of Siam dies, his successor immediately begins making preparations for the construction of a Pramene, a splendid temporary building, under which the body, after sitting in state for several days on a throne glittering with silver, gold, and precious stones, is committed to the flames.

The late Dr Bradley thus described the erection of the posts in one of these buildings:—

“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 Pramene. These must be of the finest timber, usually the oil-tree (kanyin), very straight, 200 feet long, and proportionally large in circumference, which is not less than 12 feet. There are always twelve other pillars, a little smaller in size, demanded at the same time from the governors of other provinces, as also much other timber needed in the erection of the Pramene and the numerous buildings connected with it.

“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 dragged up to the place of the Pramene, 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 cracks and other deformities—and finished off in a cylindrical form. Then they are planted in the ground 30 feet deep, one at each corner of a square not less than 160 feet in circumference. When in their proper place they stand leaning a little toward each other, so that 249they describe the form of a four-sided, truncated pyramid from 150 to 180 feet high. On the top of these is framed a pagoda-formed spire, adding from 50 to 60 feet more to the height of the structure. This upper part is octagonal, and so covered with yellow tin sheets and tinselled paper as to make a grand appearance at such a height.”

The Ton Yang (or Ton Nyang), the Shan name for the kanyin tree, sometimes attains a height of 230 feet to the first branch. Its oil is procured in a similar way to the varnish of the Mai Hăk, or Thytsi tree. A large notch is cut in the tree two or three feet from the ground, and a basin is formed at the bottom of the notch, capable of containing three quarts of oil as it drops from the upper part of the notch. A fire is then built in the notches, and kept burning until all parts are well charred. A tree 12 feet in circumference often has three or more of these wounds, each giving from one to two quarts in twenty-four hours.

At first the oil appears milky and thin, but it gradually becomes brown and thicker by exposure to the air. A good deal of sediment collects in the jars into which the oil is put, which is mixed with rotten wood or other material, and formed into torches, from 15 to 18 inches long. These torches serve as candles and lanterns, and also for kindling fires. The oil is used for oiling boats, and, mixed with a finely pulverised resin, as a putty for filling the seams of the boats, and, with less resin, as a coating to protect their bottoms. In a few days it becomes quite hard and impervious to water.

Camping in the evergreen forest, under the great tree, with the air rapidly cooling after the heat of the day, was very enjoyable, and was rendered more so by recollections of our late stuffy quarters in the pest-ridden city. Then we had pork, roast-pork, for dinner! No one can realise what a luxury that is who has not existed mainly upon fowls for several weeks.

For the sake of future travellers in these parts, I may here note the particulars of our daily meals. Before dawn, whilst the elephant-men were bathing their charges in the neighbouring stream and we were having our morning dip, 250our boys were cooking our chota haziri, or early meal, which consisted of a tin of Kopp’s soup mixed with a table-spoonful of Liebig’s essence of beef, and some biscuits, with coffee, cocoa, or tea, and half cooking the fowls which would be required for our breakfast. By daybreak our meal was completed, and everything packed on the elephants, so that we might be away as soon as it was light. On each of our howdahs we carried a cosie-covered Chinese teapot, into which hot tea had been poured after having been brewed in another pot, and an enamelled teacup to drink out of when thirsty on the journey.

At breakfast, which was served during our mid-day halt, we had soup, chickens, sometimes a duck, curry, and rice, and vegetables when we could get them. The tender shoots of young bamboos, and certain fern-fronds when stripped of their stalks, form excellent substitutes for garden vegetables, and were frequently eaten by us when procurable. Our dinners were similar to our breakfasts, with the addition of fried plantains, tapioca, sago, or boiled rice and jam. Beef was a luxury seldom to be had, and to procure a beefsteak one had to purchase an ox.

The following morning we were off early, and two miles beyond our camp came to the water-parting that divides the streams flowing into the Meh Kong from those emptying into the Meh Nam. It was only 1643 feet above the level of the sea, or 377 feet above Penyow, which was here 14 miles distant.

Nothing could have been more surprising to us. Loi Kong Lome, the great range to our right that separates the Meh Ngow from the Meh Ing, was four or five miles distant, and dying down into the plain, while Loi Nam Lin, the main range on our left, was ten miles away, with its nearest spur two miles from us.

We were in a great gap between two ranges of mountains, and were merely crossing the undulating ground intervening between them. Here was a freak of nature to be taken advantage of for railway purposes. I had now proved that the water-parting of the Meh Kong and the Meh Nam could be crossed through a gap in the mountains, and that 251Kiang Hung, at the foot of the Yunnan plateau, could be joined to Bangkok, the capital of Siam, by a railway passing through a series of valleys separated from each other by only undulating ground, which offered no physical obstruction to the carrying out of the work. It now remained to be seen whether an alternative line viâ the valley of the Meh Wung, which would bring Zimmé and Maulmain into nearer connection with the railway, was equally feasible.

Descending along the Meh Yu-ek, amongst hillocks and broken ground, we seemed to be passing through the valley of the shadow of death. The forest had a ghastly appearance. Dead bamboos lay like spellicans cast about in every direction, and many had been crushed down by others to the ground, which was carpeted with yellow silvery leaves. The light colour of the bark of the few trees scattered amongst the clumps was strangely in tone with the dead bamboos; and their yellow-green, fresh-sprouted foliage, added to the weird aspect of the scene. One could nearly believe that the pale-blue and yellow butterflies flitting over the path were the souls of human beings in the land of dreams, or on their pilgrimage to a new life.

After descending 363 feet in 4 miles, we reached Ban Hai, a hamlet in a forest of noble teak-trees. Near here, willows were growing in the stream-bed, and a caravan of thirty-five laden cattle passed on their way from Muang Peh to Kiang Hai.

We continued along the stream for another two miles, and then left it flowing to our right, and crossing a couple of low spurs, descended to and crossed the Meh Ngow. This river at our ford was 1073 feet above the sea, 60 feet broad, and 6 feet deep, with 6 inches of water in its bed. The fall from the crest of the pass to our crossing of the Meh Ngow was only 570 feet in a distance of 8 miles. Three-quarters of a mile farther we halted for breakfast at a house that had been erected for our use in the rice-plain of Ban Koi.

We were once again in a cultivated region, and from here to Muang Ngow our path led chiefly through rice-fields and tobacco-gardens.

252Early the next morning we reached the beautifully wooded city of Muang Ngow, which is situated 93¾ miles from Zimmé, and 798 feet above the sea.

Muang Ngow is one of the smallest Muangs in the Ping States. It was resettled a few years ago by Lakon, and comprised at the time of my visit only 800 houses, which were scattered through the city and six villages. There were also a few Karen villages in the neighbouring hills, some of whose inhabitants had lately been converted by Dr Cushing’s Mission, the American Baptist, that has done such good work amongst the Karens and other hill tribes in Burmah.

In reporting of this Muang in 1887, three years after my visit, Mr Archer states: “Muang Ngao (Muang Ngow) is an important sub-province of Lakhon (Lakon), and, besides its rich rice-fields, boasts of extensive teak-forests, which have recently been leased to a British company. The valley is broad and well cultivated, and the numerous and populous villages and the traffic on the roads showed greater prosperity and animation than I had yet seen, with a few exceptions, since leaving Chiengmai (Zimmé). Muang Ngao lies on the trade-route from Lakhon to the north, and the number of traders I met here proves it to be a trade station of some importance.”

This Muang, which would be intersected by our proposed railroad, is 83 miles distant from Muang Nan, the capital of the Shan State of the same name, and three days and five hours’ elephant journey, or about 60 miles, distant from Muang Peh, the capital of the State of that name. At the time when the Ping States threw off their allegiance to Burmah, Noi Atha, the governor of Muang Nan, which was then a principality of Zimmé, led a force of 4000 Burmese soldiers into the gorge of the Meh Si-phan, where they were crushed to death by rocks hurled down by the Shans from the overhanging heights. The Meh Si-phan, which enters the Meh Yom from the east, is skirted by the route from Muang Ngow to Muang Nan, and its name implies the “river of the 4000.” Lakon and Muang Ngow would be equally well situated on the railway for tapping the trade of Muang Nan and Muang Peh.

253On visiting the governor, who has the title of Pau Muang, or Father of the State, he received us with the usual frank courtesy of the Shan chiefs, and gave us what information he could about trade, trade-routes, and geography. Half of the people gain their livelihood by cultivating cotton, and the remainder by rice, tobacco, and other crops. The outcome of rice varies with the rainfall; and in good seasons the return is eighty to ninety fold, or about double the average in Burmah. The rainfall was insufficient in 1869 and 1883; though in other years their crops were good. The river does not inundate the land, but the hills being near, canals can easily be made to irrigate the fields.

Although there are many areca palms about the place, they do not fruit well; therefore betel-nuts, as well as seri-leaf, are brought from Zimmé. Dried fish come from Penyow and Kiang Hsen, and European goods from Bangkok viâ Lakon. Mr Archer met a number of Toungthoo and Burmese pedlars at the city; and the inhabitants exchange their cotton with the Chinese from Yunnan for salt, which the latter have purchased at Lakon for bartering in the district.

Immigrants from Kiang Hung, belonging to a branch of the Shans known as Lus, have formed settlements in the country between Muang Peh and Kiang Khong, as well as in the valley of the Meh Oo, a river that enters the Meh Kong from the north near the city of Luang Prabang.

The city of Muang Ngow is fringed with, and partially hidden by, fine fruit-trees; the gardens being rendered beautiful by handsome clumps of cocoa-nut and areca palms. The sala being in a filthy condition, and surrounded by a large caravan of laden cattle, we camped in the gardens.

In the evening we were startled by a terrible din which suddenly sprang up on all sides of us. Swarms of men, women, and children, seemingly maddened by excitement, were rushing about firing guns, horse-pistols, rockets, and crackers, in all directions; clashing together gongs, bells, brass basins, pots, bowls, bamboos, and anything within reach; and yelling, screeching, and hooting, made night horrible; while the discord was further increased by the 254barking and howling of frightened dogs. An eclipse was occurring—the Naga (or dragon) was swallowing the moon; and the people, naturally enraged, were determined that he should disgorge it. After the eclipse was over, clouds gathered over the sky and we had a sharp shower of rain.

The Buddhist legend that gives the origin of the name of this State is by no means complimentary to the people. It states that, when Gaudama Buddha arrived at Ngow and sent to the people announcing his arrival, they were engaged in fishing. Instead of returning home at once and putting on decent clothes, they stopped to finish their haul, and then presented themselves to him in their dripping clothes. On their approaching him, he exclaimed, “The people of this place are ngow (fools). The Buddha came to visit you, you did not hasten to him, and when at length you come, it is in this plight.” This legend, I need hardly say, was not told me in Ngow, but by a Chow Phya of Lakon.

The temperature during the day varied between 69° at 5.30 A.M., 87° at 10 A.M., 92° at noon, 96° at 2.30 P.M., and 95° at 4.10 P.M. During the hot season it is desirable that the day’s march with elephants should commence at daybreak and end by noon; afternoons are very oppressive, and the animals get jaded, particularly when travelling in an open plain or in a leafless forest.

We left Muang Ngow just as it was getting light, on April 11th, and crossed the plain to Ban Hoo-art, a village situated on the Meh Hoo-art, an affluent of the Meh Ngow. We then skirted the stream for five miles, and halted for breakfast on its bank, under a shady grove of trees. Many teak-logs had been dragged from the forest into the bed of the stream for floating to Bangkok during the rainy season. One of the teak-trees in the forest measured 16 feet in girth 6 feet from the ground. During our morning’s march we passed two large villages, a party of Burmese Shans returning to Kiang Tung from Maulmain with their purchases, and a caravan of fifty laden cattle.

In the afternoon we journeyed through a teak-forest, and after crossing two low spurs, halted for the night on the bank 255of the Meh Lah. Our camp was 81½ miles from Zimmé, and we had risen 614 feet since leaving Muang Ngow.

A mile to the east of our crossing, the Meh Lah, which enters the Meh Ngow near the site of the ancient city of Muang Teep, is joined by the Meh Lah Noi, a tributary from the south, which drains a valley six and a half miles long, formed by a long low spur, which is connected at the head of the valley with the plateau on the west. This valley has the appearance of having been cut lengthways out of the former flat slope of the plateau, the spur seeming to be the lower continuation of the original slope. On ascending the plateau on the morrow, I noticed that in the space between the spur and the north end of the range of hills lying to the east, which commences some ten miles to the south-east, the only hill visible was a short precipitous mass of mural limestone, standing up several hundred feet in height, with its top looking like a great coronet.

It thus became apparent that a similar freak of nature to that already described in the water-parting between the Meh Ing and the Meh Ngow was present in that between the Meh Ngow and the Meh Wung. The ranges between the basins of the rivers are not continuous, and a railway can be constructed from Bangkok viâ Lakon, to Kiang Hung, which lies at the foot of the Yunnan plateau, through a series of great plains, which are only separated from each other by slightly undulating country.

Leaving the Meh Lah early the next morning, we ascended the slope of the plateau for two and a half miles by a good broad road, passing through a teak-forest to the Pah Took (Stone Tent), a pillar of limestone with a small cave in its western face. For the greater part of the way the ascent lay along a natural terrace 300 and 400 feet wide, bordered on the east by the slope of the plateau, and on the west by cliffs of mural limestone. In this neighbourhood a pitched battle is said to have been fought between a Zimmé army and one of Burmese Shans, but I could get no further particulars of the event.

At the Pah Took we turned west and ascended 90 feet to the Pah Too Pah (Stone Gate)—a gap 200 feet broad, 256in the line of limestone cliffs that fringe the eastern edge of the summit of the plateau. The cliffs on either side of the gap rose like the wall of a fortress to a height of 300 feet, and the ground at the gap was 1941 feet above the level of the sea.

Continuing along the eastern edge of the plateau, which sloped from north to south, we reached the base of Loi Pah Heeng. Leaving Loi Pah Heeng trending away to the south-west, we descended the eastern slope of the plateau—the same that we had previously mounted from the Meh Lah—and after marching a mile, reached the head of the Meh Lah Noi valley.

The crest of the spur at this point is 1564 feet above the sea, and I have assumed that elevation as the height that the railway would have to cross between the valleys of the Meh Wung and the Meh Ngow; but it is evident that a considerably lower pass might be found between the spur and the coronet-topped hill which still loomed above it in the distance.

Continuing our descent, we shortly afterwards came to the source of the Meh Mau, and skirting its channel until we found water in its bed, halted for breakfast and for the night—being hungry, thirsty, and weary with our long march. My long-legged male elephant had kept me in perpetual torment by plunging at every step, and nearly breaking my back. The voices of deer were heard in the vicinity of the camp after dark. These inquisitive animals were most likely attracted by the light of our fires.

Next morning we crossed the Meh Mau, and soon afterwards left it at the point where it turns south to enter the Meh Chang, which empties into the Meh Wung—seven and a half hours’ journey to the south of Lakon. During the first three miles from the camp, we gradually ascended 171 feet to the source of the Huay Kyoo Lie, and then followed that brook down-stream for two miles to where its beautiful glen merges into the great plain of the Meh Wung.

After marching across the plain for three hours, we entered the rice-fields and suburbs of Ban Sa-det, and passing through the village, put up at the sala, or rest-house, which is situated 257on the banks of the Meh Wung. During the morning we met a party of Burmese Shans, accompanying 102 oxen laden with salt, which they were bartering for cotton to take back with them to Kiang Tung. Ban Sa-det is 60½ miles from Zimmé and 823 feet above the level of the sea.

The village was crowded with people from the neighbouring villages, who had come to join in the New Year festivities and to make their offerings at the temples and monasteries. Long strings of men, women, and children streamed past us in single file, all dressed in their best, on their way to the monasteries—some carrying baskets or brass trays on their heads, and others baskets dangling from both ends of a long flat shoulder-bamboo. Every conceivable want of the monks would certainly be satisfied. Pillows for their heads, handsomely worked three-cornered pillows to rest their elbows on, rugs to sit on, and mats for reclining; new yellow garments, lamps, palm-leaf manuscripts beautifully inscribed and covered with handsomely embroidered covers, fans and face-screens, luscious fruits and delicate viands,—what more could pious monks require, particularly when they were sheltered by such a beautiful and spacious building, situated in such a shady and well-kept garden, as had been erected for them by the people?

Women and children came crowding round the elephants whilst they were being unloaded; and as soon as our things were carried up the steps, followed closely in their wake to gaze at us and our doings and further satisfy their curiosity. Their natural politeness, however, forbade them to mount on to the verandah itself until they were invited to do so. Of course the invitation came as soon as we saw their heads above the level of the floor, and I ordered the boys to get out my packets of beads and bead necklaces so as to cheer the hearts of the little children with such inexpensive presents. How their eyes gloated on them! how their little hands clutched them when they were given! how the presents were passed round and separately admired! how this child wanted a necklace similar to what another child had got! how women who had no children with them urged that they had children at home, and pitifully besought 258me to give them beads for the absent ones! how there was no satisfying anybody! and those who could get no more were quickly replaced by others who had heard the glad tidings for the children. The whole formed a scene not easily forgotten, and I was sorry when I had to close my hoard in order to keep some of my wealth for distribution elsewhere.

The three days during which the festivities of the New Year last form the chief festival in Buddhist countries—except, perhaps, that ensuing at the end of the Buddhist Lent, which lasts from the day after the full moon of July to the full moon of October—when the merry season is ushered in by a great feasting of the monks, and fun waxes fast and furious. During Lent, marriages, feasts, and public amusements are forbidden to the pious. Some of the monks retire into the forest, or into caves in the hills far from the haunts of men, to devote themselves to religious meditation; and the people observe more strictly than usual the four duty-days which are prescribed in each lunar month, and in which all good Buddhists are expected to worship at the pagodas. Only the most pious of the monks turn into recluses during Lent. The remainder return each night to their monasteries, and are not free to roam through the country until that season is over. In the Ping States, throughout Lent, lanterns are hung aloft to guide the spirits through the air, and thus leave no excuse for them to descend into the streets. The observance of this custom is general, and probably arises from the fact that the close of the rains is an unhealthy season, and that certain spirits are believed to bring disease.

The malevolent and beneficent spirits—the belief in whom forms the earlier, and indeed the reigning, religion of the people—likewise have in the Shan States a Lent or season set apart for the stricter execution of religious duties towards them. This lasts from February to May, during which time the people very religiously observe the various rites and ceremonies of spirit-worship. One of these ceremonies consists in making offerings once in the eleventh month and once in the twelfth month to the spirits of the river, for 259having defiled the water by bathing and throwing refuse into it.

As soon as it is dark, the river becomes alive with joyous pleasure-seeking people hastening to the scene. Offerings, consisting of fairy skiffs and rafts of banana-stalks carrying flowers, betel-nut, seri-leaf, incense, and lighted tapers, are floated in myriads upon the river, and are replaced by others as they disappear in the distance. A similar ceremony occurs in Burmah and Siam at the close of Lent. Upon the toy rafts and boats floated in the river opposite Bangkok, and upon all the canals, are placed miniature 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. When the miniature fleet has disappeared, the king applies a match to fireworks that have been arranged in boats; and then are seen trees of fire, green shrubbery, and a variety of flowers of ever-changing colours, with rockets and squibs in great profusion. Large and small guns are fired from the surrounding walls of Bangkok to scare away the evil spirits; and during the three days of the New Year festival, companies of priests are employed by the king on the top of the walls, going through certain ceremonies in concert, so as to drive the evil spirits from the city.

Offerings to the spirits of the land or rivers are frequently made in cases of sickness by the people. These consist of clay images, rice, vegetables, flesh, fruit, flowers, and wax tapers, set on toy boats or rafts and placed on the stream or 260in the street, whichever is the public highway. The spirits are supposed to find the food, &c., and become appeased.

Other superstitions are connected with these naiads. One seems to have given rise to the trial by water, which can still be claimed in the Ping States—both accuser and defendant having to enter the river and see which can keep his head longest under water without coming up for breath; and another, which accounts for the seeming heartlessness of the people towards drowning folk. The common belief is that the water-sprite will certainly resent the interference of one person in rescuing another, by at some future time claiming the rescuer as a substitute.

New Year’s Day amongst the Shans and Burmese occurs at the time of the expected break of the south-west monsoons, and is held in honour of the great Indian rain-god Indra, who is invoked by the people to strike the great demon-shaped clouds (personified in India as the Demon Vritra) which bring the periodical rains, upon which the fertility of the ground depends. In the month of May, in India, the heat becomes intense: vegetation is dried up, the crops cannot be sown, the cattle droop, and milk and butter become scarce. Famine or plenty depends upon the expected rains, and the daily gathering of the clouds is watched with anxiety; but although the array of clouds is constantly enlarging, there is no rain until a rattling thunderstorm charges the ranks and the broken clouds let loose the impetuous showers. “This,” according to the Sama Veda, “is Indra, who comes 261‘loud shouting’ in his car, and hurls his thunderbolt at the demon Vritra.”

Indra is represented in the Vedas as a young and handsome man, with a beautiful nose and chin, ever joyous, and delighting in the exhilarating draughts of Soma juice. When offering to Indra, the priest exclaims—“Thy inebriety is most intense; nevertheless, thy acts are most beneficent.”

The evening of the next day, when we were at Lakon, the monsoon burst upon us. A great low-lying phalanx of black bellying clouds came up in battle array from the horizon, and, like a vast black curtain, quickly hid every star from our view. Then commenced the stupendous fight. Indra’s bolts, dashing in every direction, rent the clouds, and the rain came pouring down in torrents upon the thirsty earth.

Amongst the Ping Shans, New Year’s Day is the same as in Burmah, and is fixed by the position of the sun and not by that of the moon. It is the time of the great Water Festival, when for three days Phya In, or Indra—the rain-god and king of the Dewahs—is supposed to descend at midnight to the earth to stay for three or four days. On the signal of his arrival being given, a formal prayer is made, and jars full of water, which have been placed at the door of each house, their mouths stoppered with green leaves, have their contents poured on the ground as a libation to the god, in order to ensure the prosperity of the household; and every one who has a gun hastens to fire it off as a salute to the rain-god.

The first thing in the morning the people take fresh pots of water to the monasteries, and present them to the abbot and his monks; and in the afternoon the women proceed to the temples to wash the images, and later on freely douse their grandparents and other aged relatives. The scene of the image-washing is highly picturesque. Before leaving home for the temples, the women compound various perfumery from spices and flowers, which, when duly prepared, is cast into a metal basin—sometimes of silver—filled with fresh well-water. Newly cut flowers lie on the surface of the water, and likewise deck the hair of the women and 262girls, and even the top-knots of the little boys who accompany them.

Each woman, and even tiny little girl, bears a basin of perfumed water in her hands, and all trip along gaily, dressed in all the finery at their disposal, chatting and jesting merrily together, to the temple. As they enter its grounds, which are enclosed by low white-plastered brick walls, along two sides of which are erected sheds for the accommodation of pilgrims, the abbot and his monks, in their bright yellow garments, and with their bald pates glistening in the sun, may be seen strolling amongst the pleasant shady fruit-trees. Everything has been kept neat and trim by the pious villagers, not even a stray leaf is to be seen, and fresh sand has been scattered about the grounds as a finishing touch. The great white-walled temple, with its handsome many-tiered roof, and its floor raised some feet from the ground, stands with its door facing the entrance-gate, and a broad flight of steps, with handsome side walls surmounted by great plastered dragons embellished with coloured glass scales of various tints, and the bottoms of beer-bottles for eyes, leads up to the double entrance-door.

There are no windows in the building; and therefore the only light shed upon the great image, besides that glimmering from above, comes from the entrance-door, which faces the shrine, and from the rows of wax tapers which are placed on a stand before the image. On its pedestal are many smaller images covered with gold-leaf or silver, and all intended as resemblances of Gaudama Buddh; some depicting him in a sitting, others in a recumbent, and a few in a standing posture. As you enter the temple, leaving the sunshine for the dim religious light of the great hall, you notice about the altar wreaths and garlands of lovely flowers, fruit of various kinds, piles of newly made yellow robes which have been woven by the women, new mats, and various other offerings, that have been made to the temple and the monks.

The offerings not required, are supposed to be sold by the layman attached to the monastery, and the money given to the sick and needy. The monasteries, I may here remark, serve as refuges for poor travellers, who are welcome at all 263times to shelter and food as long as they conduct themselves properly.

The floor of the temple is generally of brick covered with a hard white cement, and the walls of the temples are frequently adorned with fresco paintings representing incidents in the lives of Gaudama Buddh, as related in the Zahts,—the favourite one being the Jataka of Naymee, where he is represented as a white ghostly figure in a chariot, passing through the eight hells and the six heavens of the Dewahs. The punishments depicted as happening to various evildoers in the hells make one’s flesh creep. Other pictures portraying the occupations of daily life, the different nationalities seen in the country, and even sepoys and British soldiers, besides 264civilians with great tall hats or enormous sola-topees, adorn the walls of some of the temples.

Groups of women and children are squatting about on the floor. Neighbours who have not met for a time are chatting together in an ordinary tone of voice. Youths and maidens are joking together, or having a quiet flirtation. Here an aged woman, telling her beads and mumbling her prayers, presses her hands together, and lifting them above her head, inclines her body in a low bow to the great image of Buddha, till her head and hands are pressing the floor. There a mother with her little child on her knee, closes its tiny palms on the stalk of a flower, and teaches the infant how to worship the great lawgiver Buddha.

Presently the abbot, or one of the elderly monks, commences in a monotonous tone to read one of the sacred books, which, being written in Pali, none of the women or children can understand. The service being over, the ceremony of bathing the images commences. All rise to their feet, and the men carry the smaller images into a miniature temple of bamboo, that has been erected in the grounds. When they are all arranged, the women gather around, and each one, taking her basin, dashes the water over the images, which are too sacred for a woman’s hand to touch.

The missionaries told me that the images are likewise drenched with water in times of drought, when the rice crop is being injured for want of rain. Only the year before, the chief of Zimmé, accompanied by his retinue of princes and attendants, ascended to the temple of Loi Soo Tayp, and had the images removed from the building into the grounds of the pagoda. Then the pagoda and images were thoroughly doused with water, to awake the attention of the spirits of deceased monks that were domiciled in them, to the wants of the people. Another day a procession of a hundred monks visited the temple for the same purpose. Finding these spirits obdurate, or too somnolent to be of use, the execution of some convicts was hastened in order to propitiate Poo-Sa and Ya-Sa, the guardian, rain-producing genii of the hills, so that they might allow more water to flow down the streams for irrigating the fields. It is evident that the 265people believed that these tutelary spirits were hankering after their former diet, and had perhaps forgotten their promise to Gaudama when he visited their haunts.

Another peculiar ceremony occurs, according to Dr M‘Gilvary, at the full moon of the fourth Ping Shan month, which usually falls in January. It is called by a name signifying “The warming of Buddh.” About daylight, bonfires are kindled in the temple grounds, at which are assembled a larger number than usual of worshippers. 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 the spirits of deceased monks inhabiting the images of Buddh, and are kindled for their especial benefit. When the fires are lighted, incense-tapers are taken by the priests, who go inside of the temple, prostrate themselves before the images, and invite them to come out and be warmed by the sacred fires. It is a sham invitation, however, so far as the images are concerned, as they are not carried out; but the spirits of the poor cold deceased monks are presumed to gladly accept it.

The greatest fun of the Water Festival at the New Year happens amongst the young people. Young men and maidens dash water over each other at every chance they have; little boys, with squirts and syringes, are in their glory; and every one is soon drenched to the skin. No one thinks of changing his clothes, and the fun continues day after day during the festival, amidst stifled screams and shouts of merriment. It is the hottest time of the year, and nobody catches cold; and no one would care to get through the three days with dry clothes! for the wetting is looked upon as a compliment.

Notwithstanding the great heat, the thermometer for three hours in the day marking 101° in the shade, we rambled about amongst the crowd, visited the monastery, pagoda, and temples, watched the fun and the fireworks, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. In the grounds of the pagoda were two fine bells, hanging in beautifully carved belfries. The bells had the usual pieces of stag-horn lying close to them. After completing their orisons, it is customary for the devotees to 266strike the bell thrice with the deer-horn, in order to awaken the attention of the guardian spirits, and every one else, to the fact of their having done so.

The next morning we were off early, and continued for nearly eight miles down the valley of the Meh Wung, through an extensive rice-plain, to the eastern entrance of the city of Lakon. On our way we passed near ten villages, and crossed a stream, which is known as Huay Bau Kyow (the Stream of the Ruby-Mines). I therefore presume that rubies have been found near the source of this stream. Before reaching the city, we noticed a chain of high hills commencing to the east, each link either separated from the others or divided by merely undulating ground. They are certainly isolated from any other range, because the Meh Mau, which we had followed down from our last pass, after draining their eastern sides, enters the Meh Wung some miles below the city.

The eastern entrance of the city is distant 53 miles from Zimmé, and is protected by brick walls 15 feet high, which enclose a courtyard 40 feet long and 30 feet wide, entered by strong outer and inner gates. A brick wall of the same height extends round three sides of the city; while the western side is simply protected by a palisade—the former wall having been destroyed by the encroachment of the river, which skirts the north and west sides of the city.

After proceeding for three-quarters of a mile through the town, we left it by the western gate, and halted near the bank of the river at the house of Chow Don, the Siamese Assistant Judge, who had kindly placed it at our disposal.

LAKON AND LAPOON DATE FROM THE SIXTH CENTURY—DESCRIPTION OF LAKON—A CHRISTIAN JUDGE—LAW AND JUSTICE—PUNISHMENTS COMMUTED TO FINES—LEGEND OF THE DIPPED PRINCE—LEGEND OF LAKON—A MODERN JOKE—LEGEND OF THE RING LAKE—THE GOD OF MEDICINE—THE ASWINS MENDING AN OLD MAN—ORIGIN OF QUACK-DOCTORS—A SIAMESE DOCTOR—THEORY OF DISEASE—MEDICINES—174 INGREDIENTS IN A DOSE—DRAUGHTS FOR THE POOR, PILLS FOR THE RICH—MEDICINES BY PAILFUL—EMPIRICS—BELIEF IN DEMONS AND WITCHES—MODE OF PAYMENT BY THE JOB—NO CURE, NO PAY—FEE TO THE GOD OF MEDICINE—PRIESTS TO THE DEMONS—SACRIFICES—CONTAMINATION FROM LEPERS—SMALLPOX AND VACCINATION—FILTHY DWELLINGS AND FURNITURE—NO PILLOW-CASES OR SHEETS—KILLING BUGS—VILLAGES ON THE MEH WUNG—DR NEIS’S SURVEY—KAREN CHRISTIANS—REV. D. WEBSTER—DR CUSHING ILL—EAGERNESS FOR WORK—MALARIOUS FEVERS—NUMEROUS KARENS IN BRITISH SHAN STATES—TRADE OF LAKON—VISIT THE CHIEF—CHEAP LABOUR FOR THE RAILWAY—GREAT HEAT—BURST OF THE MONSOON.

Lakon (Lakhon, Lakaung, Lagong, or Nakhon Lampang), the capital of a Shan State of the same name, is said to have been built on the site of an old Lawa city by Aindawa Raja, the younger son of Queen Zamma Dewah, who was raised to the throne at Lapoon A.D. 576. The queen is said to have been the daughter of the king of Vieng Chang, formerly a powerful kingdom in the basin of the Meh Kong, and the widow of a prince of Cambodia. It is a double city, part being built on either side of the river, and is the most important Ping Shan town to the south of Zimmé. The palace is in the section lying along the east bank; and the city with its suburbs is said to contain a population of about 20,000 souls, a hundred of whom are Chinese.

Like Lapoon (Labong or Lamphun), the State of Lakon 268owes allegiance to Zimmé as well as to Bangkok, and formed part of the ancient kingdom of Zimmé. It contains 15 Muangs, or provinces. The chief’s residence is of the usual type of double teak-framed houses, separated by a passage on the raised flooring, inhabited by Shan gentry, wealthy Burmese foresters, and Chinese merchants in the Ping States. Its compound, which contained two other buildings, is surrounded by a brick wall 10 feet high, much out of the perpendicular, on the south-west side, the foundations not having been carried low enough. On the opposite side of the road are several fine temples, resplendent with beautiful wood-carving and fresh gilding; and nearer the gate is the palace of the Chow Hona, or second chief.

The houses lining the streets are enclosed in large palisaded gardens, in which the dwellings for the demons, each two feet square, stuck upon posts, and looking like pigeon-houses, formed prominent features. Near the palace of the Chow Hluang are the court-house and jail. The latter is surrounded by a high plank fence. Looking through the chinks between the planks, we saw a few prisoners heavily loaded with chains squatting in the enclosure.

In the afternoon the head Chow Phya, Chow See Ha Nat, came to call on Dr M‘Gilvary, and gave me much information. This nobleman had been for a long time the chief judge of the court, and some years before had been converted by Dr M‘Gilvary. Since then he had been exemplary in his conduct as a Christian. I took the opportunity to question him as to the methods of conducting law and justice in the country. According to him, before the commencement of an action each party has to pay five rupees into court, the defendant having to borrow the money if he is not the owner of it. The charge is then written down by a court official, together with the evidence of the witnesses; frequently a douceur from either party weighs down the scales of justice, and gains the case for the richer or most unscrupulous party. Since he had become a Christian he had seldom been allowed to try a case.

Money in the Ping States, like charity, covers a multitude of sins; and for most crimes, in fact for all, at the will of 269the supreme chief the punishment of imprisonment, or even death, can be commuted to fines. As the salaries of the court officials, as well as some of the emoluments of the chiefs, depend upon bribery, fees, and fines, this is naturally the favourite mode of punishment. The higher the fine, the greater the fee, for 20 per cent is added to the fine as a fee for the officials of the court, and 10 per cent for the head judge. Fines for drunkenness are the perquisite of the supreme chief, whether Chow Che-wit (the Lord of Life, the title of the supreme chief of Zimmé and Muang Nan) or Chow Hluang (the title of the chiefs of Lakon, Lapoon, Peh, Luang Prabang, &c.) In cases of theft, double the value of the beast or thing stolen has to be paid to the late owner, as well as the fine to the court. If an elephant is stolen, a fine of 200 rupees has to be paid to the chief by the culprit. If a man cannot pay the fees, award, and fine, he is put into chains, and forced to saw wood, or do other work, receiving no pay or food from the officials whilst a prisoner. He has to beg in chains for his food, and prisoners in chains are frequently seen begging in the market-place, or from house to house. The prisoners are thus fed at the expense of their friends and relations, or, if they have none in the vicinity, by the charitably disposed. The imprisonment lasts until the man is released by the payment of the award and fees, whether by himself or by his friends, and seldom continues more than two or three years, for he is generally released, if impecunious, at the intercession of the lord whose serf he is.

In relation to the hills lying to the east of the city, which I sketched before leaving, the Chow Phya told me the following legend:—

In the time of Gaudama Buddh, Kom-ma Rattsee (the Siamese Komara-pat—the god Rudra, in the Rig Veda, who was worshipped by the ancient Aryans), a famous magician, demigod, and doctor, visited Lakon, and informed the princes and people that by his medicines and charms he could add beauty and restore youth and life to any one, however he might have been dismembered and mangled. A decrepit old prince, who was verging on dotage, and 270longed for a renewal of his youth, begged the magician to experiment upon him. The doctor, after mincing him up, prepared a magic broth, and, throwing the fragments into it, placed it over the fire. After performing the necessary incantations, the prince, rejuvenated and a perfect beau, was handed out of the pot. He was so pleased with his new appearance, and the new spirit of youth and joy pervading him, that he entreated the magician to reperform the operation, as he thought the first chopping up having been so successful, still greater benefits would accrue from its repetition. On the magician refusing, he clamorously persisted in his request. The demigod, annoyed at his persistence and his covetousness, accordingly minced him up and put him into the pot, where he remains to this day. The hill where the Phya, or prince, was dipped, is called Loi Phya Cheh (the hill of the dipped Phya); and a hill near it is known as Loi Rattsee (Russi), after the magician. Another of the hills is known as Loi Mon Kow Ngam (the hill of the horns of the beautiful wild cow). Poo Chow, the celebrated Lawa monarch, is said to have been killed by the cow whilst pursuing it. He is the tutelary spirit of the district, and is worshipped by the people. The hill on which he was slain is known as Loi Kyoo Poo Chow (the hill of the pass of the revered Chow). Poo, or pu, is a term of high esteem, and means a paternal grandfather.

271After relating the legend of Muang Ngow, which I have already referred to, he told us that of Lakon, which runs as follows: There was once a Lawa living on the verge of the Lakon State, when the whole of the country was covered by a dense forest. Hearing that Gaudama Buddh was visiting the site of Wat Lam Pang, the Lawa hastened to procure some wild honey, and placing it in the joint of a bamboo, slung it to the end of a shoulder-pole, formed from the branch of a Mai Ka Chow tree, and proceeded on his way to the Buddh. The country through which he passed is known as La-Kaun, the Lawa’s walk (from la or lawa, and kaun or kon, walk). After eating the honey, the Buddh planted the bamboo joint in the ground, and from it sprang a great clump of yellow-stemmed bamboos, which still flourishes near the Wat, or temple. The branch of the tree being driven by the Buddh into the ground, with its thin end downwards, sprouted and became a tree, still thriving on the spot, bearing leaves reversed from their natural position. The tree, bamboo, and temple are objects of pilgrimage, and are worshipped twice a year, in the second and sixth months.

He then related a modern joke about Phra Chedi Sow, the sacred twenty pagodas, situated five miles to the north-west of Lakon. These pagodas are likewise the site of pious picnics. An observant pilgrim happening to count them, could find but nineteen. Over and over again he counted, thinking that he must be mistaken, but his tally was always the same. At last he applied to the abbot for an explanation, and was assured that the twentieth pagoda was at Ban Wang Sow, the village of twenty pools, distant some miles to the south of Lakon, where there is a pagoda. This the old Chow Phya considered to be an immense joke.

272After nearly splitting his sides with laughter over this humorous tale, he said that there was a legend about a small lake in the neighbourhood called Nong Wen (the lake of the ring), which we might perhaps like to hear. On our assenting, he said the name arose from the following circumstance: A youth wandering through the woods with his sweetheart became unseemly in his attentions, and thereby deeply offended the local spirit, who, to punish them, caused the ground to sink gradually under their feet. The couple fled in great fear. The young man in his terror grasped the girl’s hand, and she, in her hurry to get away, wrenched it from him with such force that her ring fell off and came to the ground. The ring sinking, became a round pool—the Ring Lake.

Komara-pat, the god of medicine, mentioned in the first legend, is sacrificed to by all doctors in Siam at the expense of their patients, and in the stories told of him, seems to have many of the qualities of the Aswins, two grotesque personages in the Rig Veda, who were the general practitioners of medicine amongst the Aryans. In the Rig Veda they are described as brothers of the sun, and travel in three-cornered, three-wheeled cars drawn by asses. They are depicted as half-comic, half-serious personages, with very long arms, and are concerned in every odd legend in the Veda. To a holy man who was beheaded for revealing to them forbidden science, they presented a horse’s head, and stuck it on his neck in place of his own head. They enabled the lame to walk and the blind to see, and restored an “aged man to youth, as a wheelwright repairs a worn-out car.” These professors in healing seem to be the progenitors of the jugglers, magicians, and quacks found in all ages, not only in the East, but in Europe.

A Siamese doctor, according to an account given by a medical missionary, is distinguished from other folk by his medicine-box, wrapped up in a piece of figured muslin or some silken or woollen fabric, holding half a bushel, more or less, of pills and powders, carried under his arm or in his little skiff, or in the arms of a single servant. As the customs of the country require physicians to remain day and 273night with their patients while suffering under grave diseases, it is impossible for them to attend upon many persons at a time. Doctors are therefore far from being in the possession of a lucrative practice, and few are lucky enough to be able to save sufficient to enable them to acquire a teak-built house surrounded by an orchard, and support two or three wives, together with a growing family.

Polygamy among them is accounted a mark of opulent distinction, and is looked upon as a favour which has descended to them by virtue of good deeds performed in previous states of existence.

The Siamese, according to the same authority, put diseases down to disturbances in the four elements, ahpo (water), lom (wind), dacho (fire), and the earth. Water produces dropsy; wind produces rheumatism, epilepsy, apoplexy, headache, flatulency, colic, inflammation, &c.; fire produces all kinds of fevers, measles, boils, smallpox, &c.; and the earth, by its invisible and impalpable mists and vapours, induces cholera and other terrible plagues. The spirits, both good and evil, have great power over these four elements internally and externally, and can produce a multitude of bodily ailments. The people, knowing that they have accumulated much demerit in their present state of existence as well as for their sins in their innumerable previous existences, feel themselves at the mercy of these spirits, and do all they possibly can to propitiate them.

The doctors use four general classes of medicines to combat the disturbances that are caused by the four elements. These are chiefly derived from the vegetable kingdom, and from such kinds as are indigenous to their country. A small proportion of their medicines are imported from China, and purchased from Chinese apothecaries. Barks, roots, leaves, chips, orchard-fruit, and herbs, constitute the great bulk of their materia medica. Next to these they employ articles of medicine belonging to the animal kingdom, such as bones, teeth, sea-shells, fish-skins, snake-skins, urine, eyes of birds, cattle, cats, and the bile of snakes and of numerous other animals. Lastly, but less frequently, they employ articles from the mineral kingdom, such as stones, 274saltpetre, borax, lead, antimony, sulphate of copper, table-salt, sulphate of magnesia, and, very rarely, mercury. Besides the above, aloes and gamboge, and a few other gums and resins, are occasionally used.

The dependence of Siamese physicians, in waging war with disease, is more upon a large combination of ingredients in a prescription than upon the power of any one or two of the same. Hence they often have scores of components in a single dose. One hundred and seventy-four ingredients were counted by a missionary in one prescription, which was ordered to be taken in three doses.

They employ their vegetable combinations chiefly in the state of decoction or infusion. A common way of speaking of the quantity of medicine which a person has taken is to say that he has swallowed three, five, or more pots of it—each pot containing from two to four quarts. And a common way of paying the doctor is by the potful, from 30 to 60 cents each. The form of pills is esteemed a more select mode of administering their vegetable medicines; but as these are more expensive and troublesome to prepare, patients are charged more highly for them.

Medical practitioners in Siam are all, with rare exceptions, self-taught, or mere empirics. If a man wishes to try his fortune as a doctor he reads a native medical manuscript or two upon some kind of disease, and quickly ventures to practise, following the directions of the book. If he happens to be successful in a case, or nature has cured the person in spite of his treatment, he trumpets his triumph abroad, and asserts that he has rescued his patient from death; and the Siamese, who, with all their native cunning, are easily gulled in medical matters, credit his reports, and his fame is assured. The ignorance of the physicians is safeguarded by the fact that all the cures that take place in connection with the use of their physic are attributed to it, and all failures to cure are supposed to result from the malicious interference of evil spirits, wizards, witches, or something else beyond the power of human skill to contend against.

Physicians are paid by results; and a bargain is struck to pay so much if the patient is cured, before the case is 275undertaken. If the doctor appears to have done his best, and has been very attentive, the people, even in case of the death of the patient, evince their gratitude by a valuable donation, as well as by small gifts whilst the patient is being treated. It is very seldom that “a job of healing” is undertaken for less than 8 ticals (a tical is worth two shillings), or for more than 20 ticals. The price may run up to ten or even twenty times the amount of these sums, in an inverse proportion to the reduction of the hope of effecting a cure, as the disease progresses. The pledges given are always verbal; but as there is never any want of living witnesses to attest them, the successful doctor can claim their payment by law, and in case of default of money, goods, or chattels, he may seize any of the family of the patient or relations dependent upon him or her under the age of twenty, and employ the youth or maiden as his bond-slave in lieu of interest of the debt until it is paid.

Over and above the amount of the pledge, the law allows the practitioner to demand in all cases of successful treatment the customary fee, which uniformly amounts to 3½ ticals, equivalent to seven shillings in English money. This fee is called Kwan-Kow Kaya, and is divided, like its name, into two parts. The Kwan-Kow consists of a proffer of 1½ tical (three shillings) in silver, made by the patient or his friends. This forms part of the offering for propitiating the primitive teacher of medicine, the demigod Komara-pat, who is believed to exert influence in the spirit-world over diseases. A wax candle is stuck upright in a brass basin or earthen bowl, and the money is planted in the candle. Then a small quantity of rice, salt, chillies, onions, plantains, &c., is placed in the same vessel, and an incantatory form is recited over it by the physician. No Siamese doctor will enter on the treatment of a patient, however trifling the disease, without paying his respects in this manner to the father of medicine.

The second part of the fee, termed Kaya (literally, the price of medicine), is 2 ticals, equivalent to four shillings, which is the supposed legal cost of the medicines that may be given in the treatment of the case, be it little or much. 276The law having joined these two parts of the custom together, they must be exacted together. These two amounts remain in charge of the friends of the patient until the physician has worked the cure; and if he fails, he cannot claim the money.

Another legal method by which Siamese practitioners increase their incomes is by acting as priests to the demons who are supposed to cause disease. They take advantage of the universal superstition that the deceased spirits of mankind have power to cause, as well as cure, disease; and that they can be propitiated by offerings. The people credit the doctors with the power to tell whether these oblations are required or not; and for each time that he is at the trouble of making such offerings, he may legally claim, in case of cure, three shillings from his patient. This oblation is called Kraban, and is performed as follows: The doctor moulds little clay images, sometimes of men, women, or children; sometimes of elephants, horses, oxen, or swine; and sometimes of silver or gold coin; and places them on a little float, or stand made of plantain stalk, or leaf. Interspersed among them, he puts a little rice, salt, pepper, onion, plantain, chillies, seri-leaf, and betel-nut, and lights up the whole by placing a small candle on the stand. Thus arranged, he carries it into the street, and lays it down by the wayside; or, if the house faces the river or canal, he sets it afloat, and leaves it to take care of itself. The fee for making this sacrifice is called Soo-a Kraban.

The listlessness of the Siamese and other Shans with regard to contagious diseases is astonishing. They seldom take any care to avoid contact with leprous persons, who are quite common in their families; and until 1840, when vaccination was introduced by the American missionaries, they had no thought of shielding themselves or their children from their most terrible scourge, smallpox. Even now, when the utility of vaccination is explained to them, many shrug their shoulders and carelessly reply, “Tam boon tam kam,”—follow good, follow evil—which implies that they must submit to whatever happiness or sorrow their deserts bring them.

277One of the great causes of disease amongst them is, doubtless, the uncleanliness of their dwellings and furniture. It might be inferred that a people so fond of bathing, and so particular in washing their persons and clothes, would be equally clean in their houses. But such is not the fact. They scarcely ever scrub the ceilings, walls, or floors of their dwellings. You may see dirt upon the walls and posts of their houses, layer upon layer, the accumulation of years. The floors, if made of plank, are always of a dingy dirty colour, yet polished with a varnish made by the dirt of their bare feet continually rubbed in with other filth. Here and there in the floor you will see holes conducting to the lower storey, which they use as spittoons, and for other purposes.

The houses of the nobles and wealthier classes have one room, or more, carpeted with grass matting, which hides the holes above mentioned, and such rooms are pretty well furnished with spittoons, generally dirty beyond description. When the floors are of split bamboo, the ordinary flooring of the poorer classes, one has a clear view of the filth beneath the floor, as the interstices between the slats are many and often large.

A peculiar concentration of filthiness is to be found in Siamese bedrooms, especially so if they are occupied by invalids. The sick have little strength or spirit to give attention to the cleanliness of their persons, much less to their bedding, and their relatives are little disposed to care for these things. It is fortunate that their rooms are well ventilated through chinks in the walls, floors, and roofs; and that the continually accumulating filth is quickly dried, and is thus probably deprived of much of its inherent power to engender disease.

The missionary stated that, having visited the sick at their homes for twenty-nine years, he might truthfully say he had not seen a clean mattress, pillow, or mosquito-bar oftener than once in twenty visits, and then only among his Christian flock. The bedrooms amongst the masses of the people were generally horribly untidy. Their mattresses and pillows, having never had a sheet or pillow-case put over them, and having been used for months, and sometimes years, 278without any kind of washing, were generally brown and greasy as smoked bacon. Their mosquito-curtains, which when new were white, looked as if they had been long smoked in a chimney. The unmistakable marks of bed-bugs were thick and black enough to throw a European lady, or even gentleman, into hysterical fits at the sight. The Siamese think it wrong to kill their bugs, so merely take them up tenderly, and drop them into a little cocoa-nut oil, which soon gives them their quietus; or place the infested mats in the sun, so that the unacclimatised pests may die of sunstroke.

After such a description of the loathsome habits of the Siamese, it is refreshing to return to the Christian Chow Phya, whom we left squatting on the floor, telling us tales about the country. Before he left, I asked him to draw me a map showing the position of the different streams entering the Meh Wung, from the source of the river to its junction with the Meh Ping. On its completion, he gave me the names of 112 villages lying in the basin of the river, and said there were many more whose names he could not recollect. Fifty-four of these villages lay to the north of the city, and the remainder to the south in the portion of the valley that will be traversed by our proposed railway. Villages containing less than thirty houses were not included in his list.

Elephants, he said, took 13 days in travelling from Lakon to Raheng; 4 days to Muang Peh; and 5 days from Muang Peh to Muang Nan. In following the White Elephant route from Lakon to Raheng, the road is easy, and no hills are crossed between the two places. This portion of the country which will be traversed by the railway was surveyed by Dr Paul Neis in 1884, and a copy of his survey has been submitted to the Government and Chambers of Commerce with the other maps, included in our “Report on Railway connection of Burmah and China.”

The Rev. David Webster, of the American Baptist Mission, whom I had met at the Siamese frontier-post on the Thoungyeen river, and subsequently shared quarters with at Zimmé, has been very successful amongst the Karens in the hills 279neighbouring Lakon. This field was only opened out in 1881; and in 1885 he had 161 Karen converts in these villages amongst his congregation. I have never met a missionary more in earnest than Mr Webster. He and his wife and their golden-haired little daughter seem utterly regardless of creature-comforts, and make long journeys among the hill-people, bearing all sorts of inconveniences in order to carry out their good work. I cannot speak too highly of all the American missionaries I had the pleasure to meet in the country. Although Dr Cushing was ailing with incipient smallpox, which had not yet declared itself, we could with difficulty persuade him to refrain from visiting the Karen villages occupied by the Christians, although they lay at a considerable distance from our route.

Mr Webster has frequently suffered from malarious fever, and in his report, dated Lakon, February 10, 1885, gives some interesting particulars as to his views on the subject. He says: “It is noticeable that different localities have each its own peculiar type of fever. This that I have just experienced is entirely new to me; yet it has not had a very bad effect, except that I am weak, and not as usual inclined to much exertion. As far as fever is concerned, I do not see that we have much to choose between places. In some places some men are healthy and others are sick. Much more depends on the person than on the place, I think; and, again, as much depends upon the exposure to heat, fatigue, cold or wet, and to the lack of really good food, as upon anything else in the locality.” Although all my companions got fever at one time or another, I am thankful to say that I remained free from it; the only effect the malaria seemed to have upon me was to loosen for a time every tooth in my head, which is hard lines enough when one has to munch hard biscuits or even gingerbread nuts.

Many of the tribes between Zimmé and the Chinese frontier are Karen, and in a pamphlet published in 1881 by Dr Cushing, he states that “the Karens in this direction, towards Zimmé and beyond towards China, are very numerous, probably more numerous than all the Karens in British Burmah.” It is therefore likely that a very large field for 280missionary work will be opened up by our assuming control of the Shan States lying between the Salween and Meh Kong rivers.

When saying good-bye to the Chow Phya, we asked him to send the Chinese monopolist to us, so that we might learn something of the taxation and trade of the State. On his arrival he told us that he paid the Government of Lakon 12,000 rupees for the right of levying taxes, amounting to 10 per cent of the value, upon all exports from the State, other than timber; and one of his employees informed us that the bargain left this monopolist a clear gain of 10,000 rupees. His district includes Muang Ngow, Muang Penyow, and the other provinces of Lakon. The value of the exports, outside teak and other timber, must be about 300,000 rupees.

The principal exports from Lakon to Bangkok consist of teak, sapan-wood, hides, horns, cutch, ivory, and stick-lac; to China, raw cotton, rhinoceros-horns, soft deer-horns, which are used for medicine, gold-leaf, saltpetre, ivory, and brass tinsel-plates. Lakon imports from Muang Nan rock-salt; from Kiang Tung, lead, steel swords, steel ingots, walnuts, lacquered utensils, and opium; from Zimmé, cloth, crockery, betel-nuts, and pickled tea; from Muang Peh, raw cotton, tobacco, cotton cloth, betel-nut, and cutch; from Luang Prabang, gum-benjamin, stick-lac, raw silk, and fish spawn; from the Chinese province of Yunnan, opium, bee’s-wax, walnuts, brass pots, ox bells, Chinese silk piece-goods, silk jackets and trousers, silk jackets lined with fur, figured cloth, straw hats with waterproof covers; and from Muang Penyow, paddy and rice. Nine or ten Chinese boats leave Bangkok for Lakon monthly, each bringing goods to the value of between 9000 and 10,000 rupees every trip. This implies an import trade from Bangkok, chiefly in English goods, of 90,000 rupees a month. The monopolies for opium and gambling were farmed by another Chinaman, who pays the Government 3000 rupees, and is said to make a clear profit of 10,000 rupees. The only tax levied direct from the people is one basket of paddy for each basket that is sown.

281Mr Carl Bock, who visited Lakon in 1881, states in his book that “the country about Lakon is apparently rich, not only in timber, but in minerals. Near the town are some very rich iron-mines; and I also saw a quantity of galena ore, of which I was assured the mountains in the neighbourhood were full. Copper is also found in the district. The natives are skilled metal-workers, and make their own guns.”

In the evening we went to the palace to call upon the Chow Hluang. We found him seated on a raised dais, giving audience to several of the princes and head phyas. On our approach he got up and shook hands with us as we were introduced to him by Dr M‘Gilvary. He appeared much interested in the subject of the railway, and after entering into particulars as to its construction, said that it would certainly do much to increase trade and enrich the people. Five or six thousand Kamooks could easily be hired for the earthwork, timber-cutting, and jungle-clearing. Those employed in the teak-forests were hired for 50 rupees a year and their food, which cost about 3 rupees a month. Lime was burned at Ban Kwang on the Meh Wang, and bricks cost only 30 rupees for 10,000. Carpenters received from 4 annas (fourpence) to 1 rupee a day, and sawyers charged only 5½ rupees for every 169 feet sawn. From five to six Chinese caravans came yearly to Lakon from Yunnan, each accompanied by from 30 to 80 mules; and about 10,000 laden cattle and 20,000 porters frequented the city, coming from different directions, and passed through elsewhere. A large trade was done with the surrounding regions, and with Bangkok, Burmah, and China, but he was unable, or too indolent, to give me particulars of it.

Having got all we could out of the chief, we returned to Chow Don’s house just in time to escape a tremendous thunderstorm, which soon cleared the air, and greatly reduced the temperature, which for some hours during the day had stood at 102° in the shade. Many elephants are bred in the Lakon State, and a great number are employed in the extensive teak-forests that are now being worked.

282The next day the temperature was much lower, as the rain continued to fall until 9 A.M., and thoroughly wetted the ground. The greatest heat during the day was only 86°, or 16° less than on the previous day. Although in a hurry to get to Zimmé, I halted till the following morning, in the hope that Dr Cushing might be benefited by the rest, and spent the time in wandering about the place and collecting information.

PRINCE BIGIT’S EXPECTED VISIT—LEAVE LAKON—CICADAS AND THEIR MUSIC—A BATTLE-FIELD—DUPLICATE KINGS OF SIAM—TRUANT ELEPHANTS—DR CUSHING HAS SMALLPOX—A BEAUTIFUL DALE—A DANGEROUS PASS—WATER-PARTING BETWEEN THE MEH WUNG AND MEH PING—NUMBER OF VILLAGES IN THE ZIMMÉ PLAIN—THE MAI CHA-LAU TREE—PAGODA ON LOI TEE—A CART-ROAD—REACH LAPOON—THE GREAT TEMPLE AND CELEBRATED PAGODA—LAPOON BUILT LIKE ALADDIN’S PALACE—DESCRIPTION OF CITY—DESERTED FOR FORTY YEARS—VISIT THE CHIEF—LEAVE LAPOON—SCENE ON THE ROAD—REACH ZIMMÉ—REPORT OF THE R.G.S. ON MY SURVEY.

During our stay at Lakon, great preparations were being made for the reception and comfort of one of the King of Siam’s brothers, Prince Bigit, who was on his way to Zimmé, viâ Lakon. The prince had been sent by the king to meet Mr Gould, who had been appointed British Vice-Consul to the Zimmé Shan (Ping) States, and to uphold the claim of Siam to some valuable teak-forests lying to the north-west of Raheng, in the valley of the Meh Tien, which were claimed by the chief of Zimmé as lying within his territories. Thousands of baskets of rice had been purchased by the officials in the neighbouring principalities, besides fowls, ducks, &c., from miles around, to feed the prince and his numerous retainers. Everything eatable was therefore very high-priced at Lakon, and it was nearly impossible to procure fowls, or even vegetables. One or two such visits would cause a famine in the land.

At daylight the next morning, April 16, we left the city, and after crossing the Meh Wung (350 feet wide, 10 feet deep, with 1¼ foot of water in the bed), continued for thirty 284minutes through the suburbs of the town, where several temporary buildings were being erected for the Siamese prince and his retinue. The suburbs, which line the river, and extend some distance inland, are extensive, and I think must contain fully double the population within the city walls. The river was alive with people—men, women, and children—fishing in lines with drop and fling nets.

We then proceeded in a direction a little to the north of east, and for five miles passed through, or near, extensive rice-plains, noticing many large villages fringing their borders. For the next three miles we marched through a plain in which many great thyt-si (black-varnish trees) were growing, all of which had great nicks cut out of their trunk, having their rounded bottoms charred for the sap-varnish to drip into. The loud rattle of the numerous cicadas in this part of the journey was nearly deafening.

These famous singers, celebrated by Homer and Virgil, are numerous in Burmah and the Shan States both in individuals and species, and are considered a delicacy by the Karens. Their notes are full, shrill, and continuous, swelling up like an Æolian harp so as to fill the air. According to Dr Mason, a celebrated missionary, botanist, and zoologist, who resided for the greater part of his life in Burmah, “The instrument on which this gay minstrel performs is a unique piece of mechanism—a perfect melodeon possessed only by the male, and which he carries about between his abdomen and hind legs. It consists of two pairs of plates comprising a shield for the box concealed beneath. Under these plates is a delicate iridescent covering, tensely stretched over the cavity, like the head of a drum; and attached to its inner surface are several musical strings, secured at their opposite extremities to another membrane at the posterior end of the box. The music is produced by the alternate contraction and expansion of these strings, which draw the tense concave covering downwards, with a rapid receding, the sounds issuing from two key-holes of the instrument, strikingly analogous to the action of the melodeon.”

After leaving the varnish-trees, we crossed the Meh How near a village of the same name, and proceeded for a mile 285through a rice-plain, two miles in width, to the Hong Htan, the stream of the palm-trees (200 feet wide, 7 feet deep, with 9 inches of water in its bed), and halted for the night at a sala, or rest-house, in the village of Hang Sat, which is situated on the farther bank of the stream. Quartz gravel formed the bed of the stream, which rises in a great spur, some twenty miles to the north-west. Hang Sat lies forty-three miles from Zimmé, and 889 feet above the level of the sea.

Two great battles are said to have occurred in this neighbourhood in 1774, when the Zimmé Shans threw off the Burmese yoke. The first was between the Burmese and the Shans; the second between a Burmese army and a joint force of Shans and Siamese, who were led by two Siamese generals. These subsequently became first and second Kings of Siam.^[12]

From the camp we had a splendid view of the main range of hills which divides the waters of the Meh Wung from those of the Meh Ping, its crest cutting the sky twelve miles distant to the west, and could see the entrance of the pass we were about to traverse lying nearly due west of us, and ten miles farther north the low dip in the hills forming its summit. To the north-west a great spur called Loi Koon Htan, that gives rise to the Hong Htan, ended about five miles off.

Our sala was only walled on three sides; and the rain falling heavily in the evening, and driving in upon us, nearly wetted us to the skin before we could rig up some plaids as a screen for our protection.

Next morning we were unable to start as early as we wished, because two of the elephants had broken their ankle-shackles in the night, and had strayed some distance before they were tracked and brought back. Rangoon creeper, the Chinese honeysuckle, abounded in the neighbourhood of the camp, and was in full flower. We continued for half a mile 286through the rice-plain, and then entered the forest. Two miles farther, after crossing the Meh Pan, we traversed some slightly rising ground, and descended to the Meh Sun close to its debouchment into the plain.

The Meh Sun, which we were about to follow for ten miles to its source, runs in a narrow valley bordered on either side by a teak-clad, table-topped mountain-spur trending in the direction of the stream, which runs from north-west to south-east.

Our first crossing of this mountain torrent was 38 miles from Zimmé, and 14 miles from Lakon, and lies at an elevation of 1049 feet above the sea.

After skirting the stream for some miles, we ascended to a sala, which had been erected for travellers on the crest of a small plateau-topped spur, and halted for breakfast. The rest-house was 34 miles from Zimmé.

Whilst we were breakfasting, Dr M‘Gilvary noticed that small spots had broken out on Dr Cushing’s hands. On his examining them, he said that there could be no doubt that they were smallpox. Dr Cushing said that they had been coming out for two days, and he was afraid that it might be the case. On calling the Shan interpreters, they at once agreed with Dr M‘Gilvary, and we accordingly made arrangements as far as possible to cut off the chance of contagion from the remainder of the party. The two interpreters and Dr Cushing’s servant, as well as the elephant-men, had suffered from the disease: we therefore put aside cutlery, crockery, cooking utensils, &c., for the invalid; arranged that the interpreters and his boy should wait solely upon him; gave up the rest-house to them; had a temporary shelter made for ourselves; and halted for the night, instead of making an afternoon journey.

The next morning we were off at daybreak, hurrying on towards Zimmé, where there was a doctor attached to the Presbyterian Mission. The beautiful dale which we were ascending reminded me of the lovely Derbyshire dells. The plateau-topped hills on either side were of no great height, and were wooded to their summit. The cool morning air bathed one’s face, and everything around gave one a sense of 287exquisite pleasure. The fresh spring foliage spangled with dewdrops, partially hiding the silver-grey trunks of the trees; the dark-coloured water meandering over the white sand of the stream-bed, twisting and twirling round great granite boulders, and falling in little cascades; and the whole glistening in the early morning’s sun, made a perfect picture. Even the leafless and ungainly teak-trees added beauty by contrast to the scene.

Leaving the stream where it forked near some euphorbia trees more than 40 feet high, which resembled gigantic cacti, we ascended the intermediate spur, and passed through a gap in the crest, 20 feet deep, which had been worn down by elephants and cattle in the course of centuries.

Our ascent along the spur was fraught with peril, as the hill was composed of friable earth, and great slips had occurred on either slope, frequently leaving a very narrow track, with precipices 80 and 100 feet deep close to its edge. Often there was only room for the elephants’ feet placed one before the other, and deep holes had been worn by their following each other in the same foot-tracks for generations. Whilst on this narrow path we had to give way for cattle caravans to pass us, and at one time we were nearly precipitated down a great slip by a caravan of forty laden cattle meeting at a bend in the track. There was room for neither to turn back; but, fortunately, we were on a ledge in the slope of the hill, and our great beasts managed to scramble up the side, although it seemed nearly impossible for them to mount it.

On our way we met two Chinamen on ponies, accompanied by four porters; and shortly afterwards 151 laden cattle on their way to Lakon. The summit of the pass lies 28 miles from Zimmé, and 2136 feet above the level of the sea.

Our descent to the plain of the Meh Ta lay down the narrow valley of the Meh Sow, a stream that rises near the summit, and is bounded on either side by hill-spurs, having their crests about two miles apart, and sloping nearly to the stream-bed. For the first two miles the track led, for the sake of shortness, over several cross-spurs, and then 288descended to the Meh Sow, where the torrent was 40 feet wide and 2 feet deep, and flowing down its granite bed in a series of beautiful cascades.

The air was scented with the fragrant yellow blossoms of the padouk trees, and teak crested the spurs where the Meh Sow debouches on the plain. Leaving the stream near its exit from the hills, we continued through a forest of eng and thyt-ya (the Indian Sal tree), until we reached the Meh Ta. This river is 200 feet broad, 9 feet deep, with 6 inches of water, and enters the Meh Hkuang a few miles above its junction with the Meh Ping.

Having crossed the Meh Ta, we halted for the night at a couple of salas close to the bank, and to Ban Meh Ta.

Leaving the next day, we marched through a gap between the sandstone hillocks; near which the direct road to Zimmé leaves our route. Here we met twenty-four laden oxen. Two miles farther we commenced the ascent of the spur that divides the affluents of the Meh Ta from those of the Meh Hkuang. The ascent and descent were steep for some little distance from the crest. A tunnel through the spur would only need to be a few hundred yards long.

Two miles and a half from the crest rice-fields commenced, and from thence to 15 miles beyond Zimmé nearly the whole plain is under cultivation, and villages^[13] are numerous. Continuing through the plain, I halted to ascend a knoll named Loi Tee, that juts up from the plain some distance beyond where a low spur from the hill we had last crossed ends. Loi Tee is about 100 feet high, and is crested by a celebrated pagoda and temple, from whose grounds a magnificent view is obtained of the country. Dr M‘Gilvary and the remainder of the party, with the exception of Moung Loogalay and my guide, went on with Dr Cushing, whilst I got off my elephant to visit the shrine.

The broad brick staircase, 700 feet long, which led up to the platform of the pagoda, was roofed in a similar manner 289to the one leading up to the Shway Dagon pagoda at Rangoon; and several men were employed repairing it in expectation of a visit from the Siamese prince. The temple was beautifully decorated with gold-leaf, tinsel, and glass of various colours. A wooden horse of full life-size was standing saddled on the platform near the pagoda, reminding one of the enchanted flying horse in the ‘Arabian Nights.’

A raised cart-road 10 feet wide leading from Loi Tee to the ford over the Meh Hkuang, opposite the south entrance-gate of Lapoon, had recently been repaired, and, with its continuation towards Zimmé, was the only good made-road outside a town that I met during my journeys. After following this road for two and a half miles, we crossed the river (which is 250 feet broad, 10 feet deep, and had 9 inches of water in its bed), and entered the city. Five minutes later we halted at the house of Chow Don, the Siamese Assistant Judge, which is situated close to the Wat Hluang or Great Temple of Lapoon, where we put up for the night. The north gate of the city lies 12 miles from Zimmé, and the bank of the river is 1028 feet above the sea.

After breakfast, I wandered about the city visiting the pagodas and temples. The Great Temple, the finest seen by me in the Shan States, is 150 feet long and 65 feet broad. The posts of the centre aisle are 2¼ feet in diameter, and 60 feet high from the floor to the wall-plate. They are coloured with vermilion, and decorated with gold-leaf. The woodwork of the temple is beautifully carved and gilded, and richly inlaid with glass and tinsel of various colours; and the floor is flagged with rectangular slabs of marble. No expense seems to have been spared in building, adorning, and preserving the temples at this city. Many fine bronze images have been dedicated to the temples, besides the ordinary heavily gilded brick and plaster images: one of the latter, a reclining image of Gaudama, was 36 feet long.

At the entrance of the enclosure containing the Wat Hluang and the Pra Tat, or pagoda containing sacred relics, are two Rachasis, the fabulous king of beasts, one on either side, sheltered by ornamented roofs; and at each of the 290four corners of the pagoda are guardian spirits, sheltered in the same manner, and honoured by having an immense gilt umbrella erected in front of them. A large copper gong in the grounds measured 7½ feet in circumference, and had a magnificent tone.

The pagoda, which is said to be of stone and very ancient, is mentioned in one of the Buddhist books, and is held in great reverence by the people and by pilgrims from the neighbouring States. It rises in gradually diminishing rings to a height of 80 feet, and is covered by gilded copper plates, each 18 inches long and 12 inches wide. On the top of its spire is a handsome htee, or series of umbrellas which rise in a cone of five tiers. To each tier are suspended numerous small sweet-toned bells, whose clappers have large light tongues of thin metal attached to them, which are swayed by every motion in the air, the slightest breeze causing the bells to tinkle.

The pagoda is surrounded by a double paling formed of square copper rods, hollow inside; and at every 10 feet is a pillar of the same metal, surmounted at the top with a ball. Close to the railings are eight cast-iron lanterns intended to resemble temples, one of which is in the form of a junk; and cast-iron tables have likewise been erected near the base to receive the offerings of the devout. The pagoda is said to have been marked out by the two holy men, Wathoo-dewah and Tuka-danda, A.D. 574, at the time when, by their prayers and superabundant merit, they raised from out of the earth the walls, gates, and ramparts, and sunk the fosse of Lapoon. Two years later, having collected the people from the surrounding forests and hamlets, they raised Zammaday-we, daughter of the King of Vieng Chang, the capital of Soroaratatyne, and widow of a prince of Cambodia, to the throne.

It was about this time, according to the chronicle of Muang Mau, a Shan kingdom in the Upper Irrawaddi valley, that Kun Ngu, the third son of Kun Lung, the chief of Muang Mau, founded La-maing-tai, a city neighbouring Zimmé; and it may be that this prince married the queen, and gave rise to the first known Shan chieftainship of 291Zimmé. After thirty-five kings of this line had reigned, the chief, perhaps of a new line, Adutza-woon-tha, built the pagoda only 7 cubits high; while each of his successors, during six reigns, added 7 cubits to its stature; and a princess completed the work by topping the pagoda with a gold cap and a handsome gold umbrella.

When visiting Lapoon in 1837, M‘Leod heard that a copper-mine existed at Muang Kut, which had been filled up on the hill being struck by lightning.

Lapoon is of irregular shape, and between 2½ and 3 miles in circumference. It is surrounded on the three sides not facing the river by a wet ditch from 40 to 65 feet broad, and is enclosed by a brick wall, varying outside from 15 to 23 feet in height, and on the inside from 13 to 18 feet. The parapet of the surrounding wall is 4½ feet high and 2½ feet thick, and is loopholed for musketry. The city, which is neatly laid out and beautifully wooded, lies 3½ miles inland to the east of the Meh Ping. From A.D. 1558, when the Zimmé States became tributary to Burmah, till 1774, when they accepted the protection of Siam, Lapoon remained, except during short periods of rebellion, under the Burmese. From 1779 to 1820 the city was deserted, owing to frequent raids of the Burmese and Burmese Shans. It was re-established in the latter year by Chow Boon Neh, the youngest of the seven brothers who ruled in Zimmé, Lakon, and Lapoon, and whose descendants still govern these States.

In the evening I called on the chief, who holds the title of Chow Hluang. His palace consists of four buildings—one separate, and the others forming three sides of a hollow square. The buildings were of the ordinary type of the residences of the nobility, and had tiled roofs, and appeared to be substantial structures. On ascending to the verandah, I found the chief squatting on a carpet spread on a dais, or 292raised portion of the floor, giving audience to several of his chiefs and retainers, and surrounded by his wives. Around him were his emblems of rank, consisting of gold spittoons, betel utensils, trays, water-goblets, &c. He was lounging with his elbow on a three-cornered cushion, enjoying a large cigarette, and being cooled by two pretty women, who were seated 12 feet behind, wafting the air towards him with long-handled fans.

He was an elderly, iron-grey-haired man, courteous in his manner, and far more intelligent-looking than the supreme chief of Zimmé; but he had enjoyed a good dinner, and evidently did not desire to enter into a long discussion upon trade. After ordering mats and pillows to be brought for us, he said that doubtless the projected railway would be an excellent thing for the country, and would bring many pilgrims to the pagoda. He was a great advocate for improved communications, and asked me what I thought of the new bridged cart-road which I had followed from Loi Tee. Of course he would do what he could to help forward the railway, but he hoped that it would soon be commenced; for if not, he was so old that it would not enrich him. Seeing that it was hopeless to get information from him, as he was trying not to yawn between each sentence, we shook hands and returned home.

As soon as it was light on the morning of April 20th, I left Lapoon; Drs M‘Gilvary and Cushing having started some time before, so as to reach Zimmé in the cool of the day. The road to Zimmé leads for the whole twelve miles through villages with barely a break in the houses between them; and the fine fruit-trees, and beautiful bamboo clumps in the gardens bordering the road, form a magnificent and shady avenue.

It is pleasant journeying amongst human beings and their habitations after a tour in the forest. Here a temple resplendent with gold like a herald’s coat, shone out from the trees; and long, thin, red and white prayer-streamers, suspended from the tops of bamboo poles, waving in the air, called the attention of the passers-by to the place of prayer. There a gang of peasants were at work furbishing up the 293road, and making everything neat for the approaching visit of the prince. A little farther on, close to an ancient temple and pagoda, was a great avenue of thyt-si trees, with the lowest branches 50 feet from the ground, and great notches in their trunks for collecting the varnish. Even the bamboos were in fresh leaf. Parrots, doves, woodpeckers, black mocking-birds with their long tail feathers, mynahs, and myriads of butterflies, as well as crows and sparrows, enlivened the scene and gave a zest to the journey. Here a light-coloured buffalo stretched out its neck, and sniffing the air, would approach and cast a surly glance at me, as much as to say, “You’re an intruder, and have no business here.” There a group of wayfarers had spread their morning’s meal in the centre of the road, and had to be avoided, as they made no pretence of getting out of our way, but merely continued squatting and gazing at us. Just beyond, an offering to the spirits is spread on a small tray, consisting of a clay elephant, rice, and seri-leaves. The whole way was alive with objects of interest, and several fine monasteries and temples were noticed at some distance from the road.

It was nearly 4 P.M. when I reached Dr M‘Gilvary’s house, as I had halted for nearly three hours on the way for breakfast, and for the pleasure of watching village life, and enjoying myself under a beautiful grove of shady trees.

My circular journey to Kiang Hai and back, not counting the detour to Kiang Hsen, was 299½ miles in length. The cartographer of the Royal Geographical Society who plotted the survey found that its commencement and conclusion were only 1⅕ mile apart, and reported as follows: “I must confess that during my long experience I have never met with any survey executed with only a prismatic compass and watch which has given such highly satisfactory results.”

HOUSE FOR DR CUSHING BUILT IN TWO DAYS—FUMIGATION AND DISINFECTION—BRIBERY AND EXTORTION AT FRONTIER GUARD-HOUSE—TRAVELLERS DELAYED—MR WEBSTER’S JOURNEY—TRADE BETWEEN ZIMMÉ, BANGKOK, AND MAULMAIN; ENHANCEMENT OF PRICES—COMPARISON BETWEEN RUSSIA AND SIAM—OPPRESSION AND TYRANNY CAUSES CUNNING AND DECEIT—SIAMESE THE GREATEST LIARS IN THE EAST—AN AMUSING INTERVIEW WITH A PRINCE—RELIGIOUS BUILDINGS IN ZIMMÉ—DESCRIPTION OF MONASTERIES—BARGAINING WITH AN ABBOT—PALM-LEAF BOOKS—EVIL PRACTICES OF MONKS—SENTENCING THE DESCENDANTS OF CRIMINALS TO SLAVERY—BEGGING FOR MEALS—GIVING, A PRIVILEGE—RULES FOR THE ACOLYTES—SHAVING THE HEAD AND EYEBROWS—TEACHING IN A MONASTERY—LEARNING MANNERS.

A few days before my return to Zimmé the Rev. Mr Martin arrived with his wife from Bangkok, and occupied the half of Dr M‘Gilvary’s house which had formerly been placed at my disposal. It was therefore arranged that Dr Cushing should be placed in a house in Dr Peoples’ grounds, where he could receive proper nursing and medical attendance. This building had been erected as soon as it was known that Dr Cushing was suffering from smallpox. With plenty of labour and materials at hand, such a house, built of bamboos, with mat walls and flooring and thatched roof, can be easily completed in two days.

A wealthy Chinaman who had for some years worked the Government spirit and opium farms, and owned a large vacant teak-built, shingle-roofed house near the Presbyterian Mission, had courteously placed it rent free at the disposal of Mr Webster on his reaching Zimmé with his wife and little girl from where we left them at the Shan frontier-post. 295The house being very roomy, and the Websters without fear of contagion, half of this building was handed over for my use.

On seeing my elephant halt outside his garden, Dr M‘Gilvary came out to bid me welcome and let me know what arrangements had been made. He advised me to have a grand fumigation of myself, servants, and things, and to be revaccinated as soon as possible. He had already been purified, and was going at once to Dr Peoples to be vaccinated.

On reaching the monopolist’s house, I was welcomed by Mr and Mrs Webster, and by little Sunshine their daughter, but would not shake hands with them until I had been fumigated and freshly rigged out. I at once sent out for sulphur, and with my boys was soon in a closed room, surrounded with its fumes. All of our things were disinfected by being washed with a strong solution of carbolic acid. After my short quarantine I had tea and a long talk with the Websters, who had been detained for a week after we left the guard-house, owing to their conscientious objections to bribing the official in command of the guard.

This Jack-in-office, therefore, instead of aiding them as was his duty, had purposely prevented the neighbouring Karen elephant-owners from hiring their elephants to Mr Webster, all the time telling him that he could not force the men to let him have the animals. The Christian Karens accompanying Mr Webster warned him that he would have to get the elephants through the grasping official, as part of the hire was looked upon by him as his perquisite, and the Karens dare not hire them without his leave. Such behaviour on the part of the frontier officials is a serious hindrance to trade and communication, and should be strongly represented to the Siamese and Shan Governments. Even when tired out by Mr Webster’s persistency, and threatened with being reported to the Zimmé chief and the King of Siam, the official only allowed the Karens to let him have elephants to carry his things for two short marches, at the end of which he had to halt for four days to procure a fresh relay. In the short journey from the guard-house to Muang Haut, he 296was thus obliged to change his elephants no less than five times. From a copy of Mr Webster’s journal, I found this route struck eastwards from the guard-house, and was the same as that followed by M‘Leod in December 1836.

After tea Mr Webster accompanied me to the Mission dispensary to call on Dr Peoples and be vaccinated. Although twice vaccinated during my stay at Zimmé, both operations proved ineffective. This could not have been due to the lymph, as it took well on Dr M‘Gilvary, notwithstanding that he had been successfully vaccinated the previous year. I was glad to hear that Dr Cushing’s attack was a slight one, and that the crisis was over. On visiting him, he seemed quite cheered up by being in cosy quarters and under medical supervision, and assured me everything had been done for his comfort, and that he hoped to be about in a few days, and able to leave for Bangkok.

Early the next morning I called on Mr Wilson, who had taken great trouble in finding out the prices of various articles at Maulmain, Bangkok, and Zimmé, and the cost of conveyance. From the written statement made by him it appeared, by the difference in prices, that articles sent from Zimmé to Maulmain were enhanced on arrival according to the following percentages: Elephants, 25 per cent; bullocks, 100 per cent; ponies, 70 per cent; embroidered silks (one grade), 122⅔ per cent; embroidered silks (another grade), 100 per cent; embroidered cotton cloth, 150 per cent. Imports to Zimmé from Maulmain were enhanced on arrival as follows: Gold-leaf, 75 per cent; gold cloth, 15 per cent; broad cloth, 100 per cent; flannel, 32½ to 50 per cent; copper chatties (or pots), 100 to 133⅓ per cent. Exports from Zimmé to Bangkok were enhanced on arrival as follows: Ivory tusks, 30 to 45 per cent, according to size; stick-lac, 42⁷⁄₂₃ per cent; gum-benjamin, 13⅓ per cent; opium, 41³⁄₁₇ per cent; cutch, 22⅔ per cent; hides, 46⅔ per cent; horns, 46⅔ per cent; bee’s-wax, 15½ per cent; honey, 100 per cent; nitre, 33⅓ per cent.

Imports from Bangkok to Zimmé include figured muslins, red muslins, bleached and unbleached muslins, guns, powder, shot, caps, lead, bar-iron, nails, sulphur, kerosene oil, candles, 297Chinese crockery, matches, cotton yarn, green flannel, which were enhanced at Zimmé by between 12½ and 67 per cent above their price in Bangkok—the percentage varying according to their value, bulk, and weight. Salt, which is a bulky, small-priced article, is enhanced 510 per cent.

After thanking Mr Wilson, I called on the missionary ladies who shared the house with him, and exchanged my light literature for some of theirs that they had read. Amongst the books I thus acquired was ‘Russia,’ by Sir Mackenzie Wallace, which I had not had the pleasure of previously reading. I found it a most interesting work, and was much struck with the strong resemblance that the superstitions and customs of the Finnish tribes bear to those of the Shan and other people in Indo-China.

Take, for instance, Sir M. Wallace’s description of the old religion of the Finnish tribes, and compare it with the superstitions still reigning in Eastern Asia—particularly in China and Indo-China. Then look at the similarity between the power possessed by the Khozain, or Head of the Household in Russia, and that of the Kumlung, or Head of the Household in the Shan States, as described in chapter xii. The laws of inheritance, the procedure for selecting a bride, and the peculiarities of serfdom and slavery, are likewise strikingly similar in the two regions.

Even the tyranny and oppression of the upper classes over the serfs in each country has been similar, and has had a like effect in fostering the habit of perjury and lying. In chapter xxi. Sir M. Wallace accounts for the proneness of the Russian peasant to lying and perjury by stating: “In the ordinary intercourse of peasants amongst themselves, or with people in whom they have confidence, I do not believe that the habit of lying is abnormally developed. It is only when the peasant comes in contact with authorities that he shows himself an expert fabricator of falsehoods. In this there is nothing that need surprise us. For ages the peasantry were exposed to the arbitrary power and ruthless exactions of those who were placed over them; and as the law gave them no means of legally protecting 298themselves, their only means of self-defence lay in cunning and deceit.”

He goes on to say: “When legitimate interests cannot be protected by truthfulness and honesty, prudent people always learn to employ means which experience has proved to be more effectual. In a country where the law does not afford protection, the strong man defends himself by his strength, the weak by cunning and duplicity. This fully explains the fact—if fact it be—that in Turkey the Christians are less truthful than the Mahometans.”

The Siamese, who for centuries have suffered from the bad old rule—

are reputed to be the greatest liars in the East, and pride themselves above all things upon their cunning and duplicity.

After looking through the young ladies’ albums and library, and talking over their recent journeys into the district, which were made without other protection than their own Shan servants, I said good-bye, and returned home just in time to receive Chow Hoo-a Muang Kyow^[14]—the fourth in rank of the chiefs of Zimmé—the father of Chow Nan, who conducted us to Kiang Hai.

The Chow came in state, accompanied by fifteen attendants bearing his gold betel-boxes, water-goblets, and other paraphernalia of rank. On his ascending the stairs, I rose to meet him and exchange the usual greetings—“Chow, sabira?” (“Prince, are you well?”) “Sabi, sabi!” (“Well, well!”). Having no interpreters—Mr and Mrs Webster being out, and my Shans in attendance upon Dr Cushing—the remainder of our conversation was chiefly in dumb show, owing to my knowing only a few sentences of Shan, and my visitor being acquainted with neither Burmese nor English. The interview was therefore more amusing and less instructive than it otherwise might have been.

We, however, got on very well together, sipped our tea, 299nibbled at biscuits, smoked cigars, drew the usual map with matches on the table, and haggled over the lie of the country. I thus managed to extend my knowledge of the geography of the State—the more so as he frequently explained himself in Shan, and I was beginning to understand much of the language used on such occasions, although still very weak in the power of expressing myself. Then I endeavoured to explain the use of my surveying instruments, and showed him the sketches I had made during the journey, and he seemed to be much interested. Whether interested or not, the visit under the circumstances was evidently rare fun to him; and he was pleased as a schoolboy would be when I presented him with a watch and a few other articles.

Zimmé may be said to be a city of temples and monasteries, and has no less than eighty temples within its walls and suburbs, which were mostly built during the Burmese régime. The monasteries are built in the Burmese style, and consist of a hall divided into two portions: one part level with the verandah, where the scholars are taught; and the other part, where the monks receive their visitors, two feet above the level of the rest of the building.

When the monastery is a large one, cloisters serving as dormitories, and separated by a central passage, surround two or three sides of the hall. In smaller buildings the monks sleep in the hall, and their beds may be seen rolled up, with those of the acolytes and schoolboys, round their pillows against the wall.

In the porch of one of the buildings, I noticed fresco-paintings illustrating the Jataka of Naymee picturing the punishments in the Buddhist hells for various sins. People were being thrown by black torturers into the fire, and thrust down with pitchforks; one man was being bled by a huge leech; another, fastened upright between two posts, was being sawn in two, whilst a dog was at the same time gnawing at him; three people, with their elbows fastened behind and their legs in chains, were being led by a black demon or jailer to punishment; and there were many other fearful sights.

300When the monasteries are built of teak, the posts are sometimes of large girth, and the floor is raised 8 or 10 feet above the ground. If the staircase leading up to the broad verandah is of plastered brickwork, the parapets are sometimes coped with great nagas or dragons, or otherwise ornamented and finished off at the foot with images of ogres, rachasis, or other fabulous animals. If the staircase is of wood, the sides, like many other parts of the building, are generally beautifully and fantastically carved with mythological beings intertwined in the scroll-work.

On your entering a monastery the abbot does not rise, but, if accustomed to Europeans, he shakes hands, and calls for a mat for you to sit on, and three-cornered pillows to rest your back and elbows. After the usual compliments, and having partially satisfied his curiosity as to your purpose in visiting the country, where you have been, where you are going, and as to your age, he will very likely tell you his eyesight is much impaired, and more than hint that a present of a pair of spectacles would be acceptable.

If in search of curiosities, you may then express your admiration of the row of images of Buddha standing on a raised stand against the wall in the background, and ask permission to examine them. Before the images you will see offerings of taper candles, flowers, and prayer-flags; and you will notice perhaps that the largest image is made of alabaster, in which case it has been carried all the way from the famous quarries at Moway, which are situated in the range of hills above Sagain in Upper Burmah. Standing about this image, or on a lower shelf, will be other images, some of wood or clay covered with gold-leaf, some of silver having a core of a hard resin, others of soapstone, and some of terra-cotta, the latter resembling Roman Catholic saints in their sculptured niches.

If you wish to bargain for any one of these, the abbot will express himself shocked, and will say that he cannot part with it, as it has been offered to by the people. If you pull out some silver coins, and say that you much wish to have the one you have chosen, he will most likely begin to boggle his eyes, and will perhaps send his scholars off to 301play, under the pretence that they are a nuisance to you, and, as soon as their backs are turned, commence to haggle over the price like an old Jew. Even when you have come to terms with him, he will, to salve his conscience, exact a promise from you to treat the image with respect, for, if not, ill will happen to you as well as to himself.

Then you may notice several bundles of palm-leaf manuscripts at his side, and two or three manuscript chests near at hand, and express your curiosity as to their contents, which are generally birth-stories of Gaudama, or sermons preached by him, both in Pali or else Shan translations, and explanations by various learned writers. The leaves of these manuscripts are formed of strips, 2 inches wide and 20 inches long, cut out of the leaves of the corypha, or book-palm, rendered smooth and pliable by water and friction. Each collection of leaves is enclosed between two boards, sometimes beautifully carved and gilded, with two wooden pegs, one near each end, to keep the leaves in correct sequence, and to allow them to be raised one after the other as required. When not in use they are either bound round with a crocheted ribbon about an inch and a half broad, with the name, titles, and distinctions of the owner worked on it—or enclosed in a square piece of silk, often with narrow slips of bamboo worked in to give it stiffness.

Some of the larger monasteries have a handsome building erected in their grounds, and set apart for a library, in which are to be found, besides religious books, medical treatises, astrological and cabalistic books, and some treating of alchemy. Such books are not allowed in the monasteries in Burmah. In Siam the study of alchemy has led some of the monks to coin false money. In the Shan States the monks are generally more lax in their observances and rules than in Burmah, and, if rumour is to be credited, are frequently more immoral than laymen; but violations of the laws of chastity are less frequent in Siam than in the Shan States, as the monks in Siam, on their sin being exposed, are severely punished.

In Bangkok, when adultery or fornication is proved 302against a monk, the culprit is publicly caned, and then paraded round the city for three days, a crier going before him proclaiming his crime. He, and his posterity after him to the utmost remote generation, are then condemned to cut grass for the king’s elephants for life. The woman is condemned to turn the king’s rice-mill for life, and the same punishment is imposed upon her posterity from generation to generation for ever.

When a man becomes a monk he dissolves all secular relations, and cannot be called away to do corvée labour. A husband ceases to be the husband of his wives, and, by the act, his wives are absolved from all obligations towards their husband. Even a king on becoming a monk, if only for a few days, must abdicate the crown and throne during the time that he is in the monastery, and be recrowned and remarried on returning to secular life.

In Siam, the only way a prai-luang can escape the three months’ corvée labour exacted from him by his Government master is by persuading that master to allow him to become a monk. When a monk, his life is one of ease and often of indolence. Early in the morning, about daybreak, he is aroused from slumber by the beating of the great gong, drum, or bell attached to the monastery, and, after washing his face, puts on his yellow robes, suspends his iron begging-bowl over his shoulders, hanging under his left arm, and his fruit-bag on his right elbow, and leaves the monastery, by boat or by land, a little before sunrise.

As he passes along the river or streets, the charitably disposed stand opposite their houses with a basin of smoking rice, curry, pork, venison, eggs, fish, fruit, betel-nuts, seri-leaves, tobacco, and cheroots. When the monks approach, sometimes as many as 10 or 15 in a line, the donors salute them reverently. As the first monk approaches, he removes his upper yellow robe from the hidden begging-bowl, and, still keeping his eyes on the ground, takes off its conical cover, and holds it out to receive one or two half cocoa-nut shells full of rice. Then, after closing his bowl and flinging his robe round it, he extends his fruit-bag for the remaining donations. The 303donor then murmurs an inaudible blessing, and the monk moves on, giving place to his successor. Thus they proceed from house to house, never making a request, or giving thanks, or even uttering a word. It is considered a favour by the people to be allowed to accumulate merit by making these offerings to the monks. When the monks have collected sufficient for their day’s requirements, they return to the monastery, where they can regale themselves upon the food until noon, after which they must fast until sunrise the next morning. The abbot and other monks of more than ordinary rank do not beg, but have their daily wants supplied by the pious in their neighbourhood.

In case a monk requires anything else besides his daily food, he goes at a later period of the day, and silently stands for a few minutes near the house of the person he hopes to obtain it from. On seeing the monk, the person salutes him respectfully, and asks him what he needs. The monk replies, “My body has met with the necessity” of such a thing, which he names. If the person is unable or unwilling to present it to the monk, he bows low before him, at the same time clasping his hands in front of his face, and says, “Let it please thee, thou lord of favours, to proceed onward, and bestow thy compassion upon somebody else.” The compassion, of course, is the privilege of supplying the particular want of the monk. No monk may, by the rules of his order, ask for anything until he has been requested to name his requirement.

The inmates of the monasteries are divided into three classes—the monks, the nanes (or acolytes), and the pupils. The rules or commandments designed for the monks are 227 in number, and are given by Colquhoun in his interesting work ‘Amongst the Shans.’^[15] The rules for the nanes are as follows: Take no animal life; do not steal; have no venereal intercourse; do not lie; drink no intoxicating liquor; eat no food after mid-day until daybreak the next morning; adorn not the body, even with flowers, nor make it pleasant by perfumery; be not a spectator at theatrical or musical performances; sleep not on a bed raised higher 304than one cubit (19½ inches); touch not silver or gold, or anything which passes for money.

Youths may be admitted as nanes at any time above seven years of age, but cannot become monks before being fully twenty years old. To become a monk a man must pass immediately from being a nane. If he has been a nane at some previous time, he must still become one again, and be reinstituted, before he can enter the ranks of the monks. Persons can be admitted as nanes or monks at any time in the year, except from the first evening of the eighth (Siamese) waning moon until the middle of the eleventh. The period which includes the rainy months of the year is termed Wasa, and is the great annual harvest-time for making merit. It is during this season that the monks may not absent themselves for a single night from their monastery. More people become monks in the first half of the eighth month than in any other month of the year.

Previous to being admitted as a monk, or even a nane, the candidate has the hair shaved from his head and eyebrows; and, if he has a beard, has it plucked out by the roots. This ceremony is repeated twice a month by the monks and nanes, on the day preceding the full and new moon of every month. The shaving day is called “Wan Kone.”

The pupils are taught by the monks either in the hall of the monastery, or in a building erected for the purpose in the temple grounds. The parents select the monk by whom they wish their son to be taught, and the monk takes his pupils under his special care; and they are fed and lodged in the monastery. When they have learned to read and write their native characters, they have to study the Cambodian character in Siam (the character in which the Siamese sacred books are written), and the Pali character in the Shan States.

Some of the lads, while in the monastery, learn the first rules of arithmetic, others medicine, some the sacred books, and all the rules of manners. In this latter respect our English board schools might well take a lesson from the rules of the Buddhist monasteries. The rules of etiquette 305are called Sekiya-wat, and include the adjustment of their robes; walking and sitting in a graceful and becoming manner; how to sit and rise up decently; the attitude of body and mind in which they are to partake their food; behaviour to their superiors and inferiors, and to the pagodas and images; how to behave themselves when begging, and when in the presence of the laity, especially in that of the fair sex.

LEAVE ZIMMÉ WITHOUT INTERPRETERS—BORROW A TENT—REACH BAN PANG KAI—THE CRY OF GIBBONS—LEGEND—A PRIMITIVE PAGODA—THREE KINDS OF PAGODAS—DESCRIPTION—LOW PLATEAU DIVIDING MEH LOW FROM MEH WUNG—BRANCH RAILWAY FROM LAKON—THE HEAD SOURCES OF MEH WUNG—A STORM—TEAK—REACH MUANG WUNG—COCKLE’S PILLS—A TEMPLE AT NIGHT—TOWER MUSKETS—A PLAGUE OF FLIES—MOOSURS—DR CUSHING LEAVES FOR BANGKOK—HIS EXCELLENT ARRANGEMENT—TRANSLATOR OF THE BIBLE INTO SHAN—LOSS OF SHAN INTERPRETERS—MR MARTIN JOINS PARTY—BAU LAWAS IN SOUTHERN SIAM—ARRIVAL OF MR GOULD—ELEPHANT TITLES—DINNER AT THE MARTINS’—A PRESENT OF CIGARS.

After being detained five days at Zimmé in the hopes of one of the missionaries being able to accompany me to the sources of the Meh Wung, the Princess Chow Oo Boon kindly hired me some of her elephants, and I started on the morning of April 26th, without interpreters, accompanied merely by the elephant-men and my own servants. Natives of India have an astonishing power of quickly learning sufficient words and sentences of a strange language to allow them to express themselves more or less fluently to the people of the country. As Jewan, Veyloo, and Loogalay were not exceptions to the rule, and I had acquired some little knowledge of the language, I thought we should be able to manage very well.

As the rains had set in, and we might expect showers every night, I borrowed a good-sized bell-tent from one of the missionaries, which, on a pinch, would contain myself and two of the servants; while the other one could curl himself up in an elephant-howdah, and shelter himself beneath its cover.

307I followed the route which was taken by M‘Leod in 1837, when on his way from Zimmé to Kiang Tung, as far as Ban Pang Kai, a village 9 miles to the south of Viang Pa Pow, which we had visited when proceeding to Kiang Hai. The height of the pass over the divide between the Meh Hkuang and the Meh Low crossed by the route is 3413 feet above the sea.

During the morning, before reaching Ban Pang Kai, we were accompanied by the howling of the gibbons which infested the evergreen forests; and I halted for a few minutes to take down their cry, which ran thus: Hoop-hoi, oop-oi, oo-ep, oo-ep; hoo-oo-oo, oi-e-e-e, hoi-e, oop-oop, oi-oi-oi-oi, oop-oi, oi-oi-oi-oo, oop-oi, hoi-hoi-hoi, hau-au-au. For miles on the journey these were the only sounds heard in the forest, and even the notes of some of the birds vociferated in the early morning seemed to be imitated from this cry. One calls koo-a-woo, at-a-woo; another, koo-a-koo, koo-a-hoo; another, koo-wa-ra, hoo-wa-ra; another, hoop-pa-pook; and another, hip-poo-hill, hip-poo-hill.

The Shans call the gibbon hpoo-ah (husband), from the similarity of its cry to that word, and account for its wailing as follows: In a former existence a woman, who afterwards was born as a gibbon, lost her husband, and becoming distracted, wandered through the forest rending the air with her cries—hpoo-ah! hpoo-ah! (husband! husband!). When she was born as a gibbon, she continued the cry, which has been kept up by her descendants ever since.

Ban Pang Kai lies 49 miles from Zimmé, and 2058 feet above the sea. Although only a small village, it possesses a temple, the roof of which was anything but watertight, 308as the thatch required renewing. A large white ant-hill served as a pagoda, and had offerings of flowers placed before it. It was the most primitive, and most correct to the original design, that I had ever seen, as, according to the monks, Gaudama left no instructions with reference to pagodas, but merely said that a small mound should be raised over his bones in the form of a heap of rice.

The Siamese word “Chedi,” for a pagoda, is derived from the Pali word “Chaitya,” and means the offering-place, or place of prayer; and the Shan word “Htat,” or “Tat,” and the Siamese “Săt-oop,” for a pagoda placed over portions of Gaudama’s body, such as his flesh, teeth, and hair, is derived from the Sanscrit “Dhatu garba,” a relic shrine. In Siam there are three classes of pagoda: the Pra Săt-oop, which is placed over remains of Gaudama; the Pra Prang, placed over his utensils; and the Pra Chedi, placed over his personal apparel and that of his disciples. The pagodas are made of either brick or stone masonry, plastered over with a cement formed of lime, sand, and molasses, the latter rendering the plaster very hard and durable. Sometimes it is built over a core of earth, which is apt to cause the brickwork to crack as the earth settles. The bases of these pagodas are either square, circular, hexagonal, or octagonal. The structure rises in a taper form by regular square or rounded gradations to a small spire, from 20 feet in height to 150, and the apex is surmounted by a handsome htee, or gilded series of tapering umbrellas.

Leaving Ban Pang Kai, we struck eastwards, and after crossing the rice-fields of the village, ascended 90 feet to the crest of the plateau which divides the valley of the Meh Low from that of the Meh Wung. The crest lies only 309three-quarters of a mile from the village, and 2148 feet above the sea. A branch line could be run without difficulty from Lakon, up the valley of the Meh Wung, and over this plateau into the upper valley of the Meh Low, which will be able to support a large population when the fine plains and plateau are again brought under cultivation, and irrigated from the neighbouring streams.

At 51 miles I sketched the head of the basin of the Meh Wung. Loi Mok, and its spur, Loi Pa Kung, lay about 15 miles due north, and the pass over the Kyoo Hoo Low, which leads into the valley of the Meh Ing, about the same distance to the north-east.

After crossing a valley in the plateau drained by the Meh Kee-ow,—a stream with slate and shale in its bed,—we passed some large blocks of limestone piled up like Druidical remains, close to the head of the valley. Here a thunderstorm commenced, and the rain began to pour down in torrents, soon making my followers look like drowned rats. From 53 miles the path passed for a mile amongst a series of limestone peaks, which stand up like skittles from the plateau, and are called Loi Pa Chau. These ended at the edge of the plateau, which was wooded chiefly by pine and teak-trees, some of the latter being 16 feet in girth. The trees must be of great age, as a circumference of 6 feet denotes a life of one hundred years. At the point where the path commences to descend from the plateau, a road leading to Penyow, viâ Loi Mun Moo, leaves to the right. Descending the slope for a mile and a half through a forest of great teak-trees, 310many of which had been lately girdled, we reached the fields of Ban Huay Hee-o. A mile and a half farther across the plain brought us to Ban Mai, the headquarters of the governor of Muang Wung, which is a province of Lakon.

We put up for the night in a large and beautifully decorated 311temple, near the bank of the Meh Wung, which is here 80 feet broad and 9 feet deep, with 1 foot of water flowing in its bed. Ban Mai is 57 miles from Zimmé, and 1462 feet above the sea, or less than 700 feet lower than the water-parting separating it from the Meh Low. Just before reaching the village, I sketched the hills lying to the east of the Meh Wung, which divide it from the valley of the Meh Ing.

My head was aching with a bad bilious attack when I arrived, so I determined to go without dinner, and took a couple of Cockle’s pills. These pills are simply invaluable in such cases, and I never travel without them. As soon as my things were unpacked, I sent for the governor, and procured the names of the villages in the Muang, and got him to make a map on the ground with matches to show me the position of the villages and streams.

The scene was one not easily to be forgotten. The magnificent posts covered with red lacquer and ornamented with gold, increasing in height with the tiers of the roof; the centre and side aisles lengthening out in the gloom; the chancel in the distance, with its great gilded image of Gaudama,—were shrouded in darkness, save for the dim religious light cast by my two wax candles.

Next morning the governor sent me a present of fowls and vegetables, accompanied by a guard of honour, armed with Tower muskets marked with G. R., a crown, and London, to attend me as far as Ban Pang Kai. Whilst sketching the hills at the head of the valley, my hands were absolutely gloved with flies, and you could hardly have put a pin between the flies on the backs of my attendants; but luckily they were innocuous, and did not lust after our blood. I halted for the night at the temple of Ban Pang Kai. Another heavy thunderstorm, accompanied by rain, happened in the evening. The roof of the temple was so leaky, that I had to protect my bed from the drippings with waterproof sheets.

Whilst halting for breakfast on the following day, near the hot springs on the Meh Low, I had my chair placed some distance from the camp under a great Mai Hai tree, 312which was dropping its damson-like fruit. A Moosur, with black turban, trousers, and jacket, passed by, and was shortly afterwards followed by another, who, startled at seeing me, looked about suspiciously, and clutching his gun, brought it to the front as he sidled past me. A little later, on returning to the camp, I found both of the men sitting round the fire, having an amicable smoke, and an attempt at a chat with my boys.

I was glad to hear on my return to Zimmé that Dr Cushing had so far recovered as to have been able to leave for Bangkok on April 30th. The thoughtful kindness of this missionary in taking over from me the management of the commissariat and camp arrangements during our journeys, together with his skill in keeping the loads of each elephant separate, and having only such things unpacked as were immediately required, enabled me to start by daybreak every morning (except when we were delayed by the carelessness of the elephant-drivers, who occasionally allowed their animals to stray), and I was thus able to make longer journeys and do more work than I could otherwise have done.

I trust that the knowledge he was able to collect of the various dialects of the Shan language, and the information he gained about the customs and habits of the Ping Shans, will be a full recompense to him for the constant and enthusiastic manner in which he took up those matters. It is only by acquiring a thorough knowledge of the languages, habits, customs, and superstitions of the people, that missionaries can hope to influence and convert them. The noble work that Dr Cushing has done in translating the Bible into Shan will greatly aid his fellow-missionaries in Christianising and civilising not only the Shans but the neighbouring tribes who understand their language. The greatest field for missionaries in Indo-China lies, undoubtedly, amongst the non-Buddhist hill-tribes, where so much good work has already been done by the American Baptist, the American Presbyterian, and China Inland Missions.