Luang Prabang (March, 1893).
Making expeditions in various directions, Luang Prabang was our
head-quarters for about three weeks. Of all the country round, the
town itself seems to be the hottest place, and to be away in the
jungle was infinitely preferable to staying in the bungalow, where at
sunset the thermometer was generally still at 92°. Unlike Nan, Chieng
Mai, or Korat, there is no wall around the town, which is the usual
collection of substantial teak houses, and large roomy monasteries, of
which one-half are in ruins. The latter, however, show signs of some
fine gilding and decorative work, and a good deal of architectural
effort has been expended upon them. They have been allowed, after the
strange custom of the Buddhists, to fall to rack and ruin without an
attempt being made to save them; because, one would think, by some
strange mistake, the repairing of a monastery makes no merit, though
building a brand-new one, however third-rate in style or bad in
finish, is one of the highest of merit-making acts.
The chief points one notices in which these wats differ from those in
Nan are, the generally low effect, the roofs rising less strikingly
than that, for instance, at Muang Sa; the raising at the centre of the
roof of what at a distance looks not unlike the lantern of a college
hall, which is merely an exterior addition, and does not admit light
or air; the small-scale[4] buildings, of which there are often several
in the enclosure, which are best described as being like tiny chapels
with vaulted roof, in which, of course, innumerable "phras" stand at
the inner end, and which are usually about 14 feet in length, and
beautifully proportioned; the small pedestals, which are disposed
about on all sides, in a niche in which the small phra is always to be
seen; and, finally, the substantial character of the stone enclosure
which surrounds the monastery buildings, with often an effective porch
at the entrance. In the curves of roof and eaves they show a real
artistic sense. The materials used are brick, covered with stucco,
timber, and wood tiles; and, where an arch is attempted, it is always
supported by a horizontal beam in the Chinese fashion, with the space
above usually filled in, or else a perpendicular goes up from it. It
is curious that there are no signs of any knowledge of true arches in
these states.
[Illustration: WAT CHIENG TONG.]
The main feature of the Muang is the central hill known as Kao Chom Pu
Si, a bluff of limestone standing up out of the red sandstone plain on
which the town is built; its longer axis is parallel with the river,
from which it is less than a quarter of a mile distant. On the summit
is a small wat, with a lofty pagoda pinnacle visible for miles round;
a huge drum hung here is struck every hour by a monk, and its boom
rolls down all over the valley. What with it and the bugles and other
wats' gongs, one is never at a loss to know the time. The town is
clustered round the hill, and, except on the south, there is water in
almost each direction, the Nam Kan coming winding into the big river
from the east, just to the north.
[Illustration: PA CHOM SI, LUANG PRABANG.]
The people, among whom slavery was abolished a few years ago by Phya
Surasak, who went up as the Siamese general to quiet the Black Flags,
are a very independent race, and, possibly mindful of a powerful past,
think somewhat of themselves, and do very little manual labour. The
men, I regret to own, are very much addicted to opium; stealing is not
absolutely unknown, and generally the code of morals is not as severe
as in Nan. The women, instead of the timidity and shyness to which we
had been accustomed so far (so that, when they could, we always found
the women bolt into the jungle at the sight of strangers, or at least
retire), showed a very free and easy manner, and are much addicted to
giggling and chatter.
[Illustration: PLAN OF LUANG PRABANG AND RIVER.]
The industrious sounds of the foot rice-mills are hardly ever to be
heard in the town; and the market, instead of taking place in the
early dawn, that the day's work may not be interfered with, lasts
roughly from dawn to sunset, with the exception of an hour or two at
noon. All down the main street, which runs between the hill and the
river, the ladies sit behind their baskets, flirting with the men, who
cruise up and down with apparently not much else to do. This market is
a very big affair, and besides the usual endless fruit, cigarettes and
flowers, there are huge steaks of pla reum, ducks, ducks' and hens'
eggs, pigs dead and alive, opium lamps, Japanese matches, needles and
pins, cotton, coarse cotton cloth, tobacco, and a fair sprinkling of
Manchester goods. Among the people one sees besides the Laos of the
place, are Nan Laos, Lus, or Khache, and various hill tribes
remarkable for their scanty clothing,[5] Chinese, Shan traders from up
the Nam Oo, Haws, and Burmese. At the time of my visit, the French
consulate was across on the other side of the river, M. Ducant being
in charge there. There is also a French store with all sorts of French
goods, connected with the "Syndicat du Haut Laos." These goods I found
most unpopular with the people, and when I bought one or two things
for my men (päs, as they call them, for throwing over the shoulder
like a mantle, or for sarongs), they refused to have them, saying the
people had told them they were "no good,"--one reason being they would
not wash. The imports of this store, brought by boat down the Nam Nua
and Nam Oo from Tongking, amounted in February and March, 1893, to
19,841 francs' worth. The Commissioner, and my own observation in part
confirmed it, told me that the store has to be heavily subsidized, and
is not successful, the goods not being wanted by the Laos, who make
their own rough cotton stuffs for hard work, and their own silk
finery, and find these more lasting and efficient for the work for
which they are wanted. The Frenchmen told me they often lose valuable
cargoes in the rapids in the Nam Oo. While on this subject, I may say
that small tricolours and medals are freely given in all directions to
any native who will take them. I found at Nong Khai that the
Commissioner had some hundreds of these small flags which had been
brought him by the Laos there at different times as having been given
them by the Frenchmen, naively remarking that they could "find no use
for them," and so they would give them to the Commissioner, if any
good to him. These flags are also given largely to the monks, to
ornament their wats with, with "Vive la France!" inscribed across
them.
[Illustration: STONE IMPLEMENTS.]
Beyond these, I saw no signs of French commerce among the people. The
Nam Nua and Nam Oo route over from Jonking, though a rough one, no
doubt answers its purpose on the whole, and to M. Pavie, the Minister
at Bangkok, who has travelled the country extensively, and has left
kindly memories behind him, belongs the credit of it. Another
Frenchman who has done good work in the neighbourhood is Dr. Massé,
who lately died of fever going down the Mekong. For years he carefully
and enthusiastically studied the geology of the district, and he has
been able to determine the age of the Luang Prabang series; all his
specimens (including some coal and beautifully sharp stone implements)
and his papers are, I believe, in M. Pavie's hands, and will prove of
enormous interest.
The party at the French Consulate, whether owing to their mode of
life, or the climate, did not look well at all; and from the headaches
and fevers which laid hold of the people with me while at M. Luang I
am not surprised. In justice to the place, it must be owned, March is
the hottest month. I did not see any cases of the famous Luang Prabang
fever, which has carried off so many. Like that usual in Dong Choi,
the temperature rises very fast and very high, and, if fatal, is
generally so after two or three days.
[Illustration: GOVERNMENT OFFICES, LUANG PRABANG.]
There is, or was, a police force in the town recruited from the Laos,
but their duties are very light. Fights or quarrelling are unknown,
whatever other faults there may be, and the most important part of the
police duties is to keep a watch for fires. Only one occurred while we
were there, and the promptitude with which the buglers went sounding
out the alarm from all the guard-stations and the men turned out was
most creditable; luckily there was no wind, and it was got under very
quickly.
The head-quarters, as far as the Siamese Government was concerned,
were in a newly built set of offices, standing in a large
drill-ground; the whole thing was done by the soldiers and the people
of the place under Prah Prasadah's orders and watchful eye. It is
built of teak, with red-tiled roofing, and consists of a front hall,
long offices on both sides, and at the back sleeping-rooms and more
offices. Here, in the evenings, took place regular concerts, to
several of which we went for an hour or two. The people of Luang
Prabang are undoubted music-lovers to a high degree, and night after
night, after the major and lieutenants had messed, the musicians
arrived in the hall, squatted down, and began, sometimes the wailing
Laos music, sometimes the quick jig tunes of Siam. The instruments
consisted of two two-stringed violins, a high-pitched flageolet, and
one or sometimes two _kans_, a kind of reed-organ carried about by the
player, who is the bellows. Sometimes the bamboo reeds are over 6 feet
in length, but they are light; the mouth is applied at a mouthpiece
toward the lower end, where the fingers play on each side, there being
two sets of reeds side by side. The instrument is held upright in
front or slightly inclined over the shoulder, and the sweetness of the
tones is wonderful. This usually forms a bass, and smaller ones with
shorter reeds accompany the voice well. It would be no exaggeration to
say that nearly every household in Luang Prabang possesses one,
sometimes two. A most striking thing it is at night, far into the
early hours, to hear the distant kans from all sides playing in the
houses, now and then drowned by the nearer approach of one whose
master has been out calling late, and goes striding down the road with
perhaps three or four more friends in single file behind, playing a
march tune with all his lungs like any Highland piper. One of my
pleasant memories of life will ever be those evenings when turning in,
after the hot day in the verandah, one listened to the sound of the
_kans_ passing homeward, and rising and falling on the night-air. What
with the evening bugles, too, and the drum upon the hill, and the
cocks and _nok poots_, who never fail to announce the hours 9 p.m.,
midnight, 3 a.m., and 6 a.m., whether in the jungles or among the
dwellings of man, a light sleeper would complain bitterly.
In the concerts at the new offices there were often _kan_ solos; while
the orchestra, when in full swing, was accompanied by clapping of
hands and the tinkle of metal; the songs, albeit curious, were not to
me so enjoyable, though very much so to the Laos. A number of pretty
damsels, in their most gorgeous silks, sat round busily chewing
betel-nut; these would be asked to give a subject, and one with a good
deal of blushing would give in a loud tone her subject. The orchestra
struck up, and the singer had to make the best he could of it on the
spot; and judging by the laughter and general approbation after each
verse, he was generally successful. But we all failed signally to
understand the words--the language here differing very much from that
of Nan, of which we had begun to pick up some; while, when sung, it is
even more incomprehensible. What with the attractions of music, their
love and battle songs, and perhaps other things, the Laos of Luang
Prabang keep late hours, and are late to turn out.
The Chow Luang and Chow Huanar, with whom I exchanged visits, are
pleasant, open-countenanced men, and after a second visit became quite
jovial. The latter helped me a great deal in my work, and I was sorry
to say good-bye. Their houses were large teak buildings, but the Chow
Luang is building one of brick.
[Illustration: KENG KANG, NAM OO. THE PLUNGE OFF THE LEFT BANK.]
Our longest expedition from here was up the Nam Oo, which comes in
from the north-east. The scenery of this river is very fine, as all
the way from Muang Ngoi, to which we went, it winds through abrupt
limestone peaks and ranges, covered with dense forest, and often
overhanging the deep quiet river below. But the rapids scattered along
its course are furious, and, owing to the shallow water and
innumerable sunken rocks, are very dangerous, while quite a high sea
runs in them. They differ from most of the big Mekong rapids in that
they are caused by rough sloping bottoms of rock ridges, over which
the water tears its way. In the great river the majority of the rapids
are simply owing to the narrowing of the channel, with possible big
rock obstructions rising out of a depth which, with a 20-fathom line,
often gave no bottom (this in low-water season). In these the
acceleration of speed and commotion are caused by the enormous
pressures behind, and the frictions below, and the force of the back
eddies, which go tearing in toward any little or big opening in the
banks of rock, and come sweeping back again in wave-like rushes or in
whirlpools. "Rapid" is often a misnomer; for what with whirlpools, the
sudden capricious rushes of water boiling up in a mound of spray, and
flowing wildly in apparently any direction but the one by which it
will eventually get out, and the great back eddies and counter
currents below, the boat, alternately dragged to the right bank, spins
round on the edge of a whirlpool, hurries over on a mass of foam to
the left side, and there caught and hurried up the side again, or
swirled off downwards into another whirlpool, spends several minutes
in passing down a hundred yards, though every hand is straining at the
oars, and steersman and bow-oar are lugging for dear life to keep her
straight, and save her ends from being caught up on the rocks at which
she is hurled.
Such are many of the worst of the Mekong rapids, which will prove too
much for any number of steamers, extending often, as they do below
Chieng Kan, for miles. Even the great rushes of solid water, and
converging lines of breakers of the rapids, where, as in the Keng
Luang below Luang Prabang, the already compressed water has to fight
its way over a shelving bank of huge shingle, of which each stone is
often as big as an average Laos house, will prove easier to navigate.
But in the Nam Oo the shallowness of the water is the danger, and
there is often, as in Keng Luang two days up, a fall straight over a
dioritic ledge of 3 feet. This class of rock it is which forms the
rapids, and when the limestone hills retire from the river edge, and
low-lying, round-topped hills less densely jungled, come in, one may
look out for a rapid and change of formation.
[Illustration: KENG LUANG.]
The villages up this river are very poor, except in ducks, which are
seen swimming merrily about in all the quiet reaches, and not a few of
the rapids. As to buying them, it was almost impossible, though it was
the only form of fresh food obtainable. We could hardly get the people
to take money, and had to barter, though we were rather short of
things ourselves. It is odd how difficult it is to get tea, and as our
Bangkok tea had given out, hot water, with sometimes a few herbs[6]
picked by Chow Benn Yenn, had to take its place. He also produced a
dish of butterflies' bodies one evening with the curry, but they had,
to my mind, not much flavour. He also had a weakness for a species of
cricket, which he cooked by throwing on the fire, and then devoured.
Frogs, too, are eaten by the Laos, they going to the extent of eating
the body as well as legs of the _ongan_ when the rains begin. The
Siamese also eat the _kob_, a small frog, of which the legs are
certainly very good; and when the French gunboats were in Bangkok they
were not to be got in the markets for love or money.
Up and down this river a considerable trade in hill rice takes place
between the hill villages and Luang Prabang, and we met greater
numbers of boats than on the Mekong; they were most of them ascending
at the time, with three men, or in the longer craft four, poling. The
bamboo is placed against the outside shoulder; the man, facing aft and
leaning low, runs the boat up till he reaches the deck-house; he then
brings in the pole hand-over-hand until he has it about the middle,
and then with the arms straight up above his head, to keep the bamboo
over the head of his fellow, goes forward again. This business,
continued for hour on hour, is very hard work indeed, as any one who
tries it will discover; and the light narrow boat rolls a good deal,
making foothold at times very difficult, and no one wearing shoes
could stay on board for two minutes.
Going up the rapids is far more dangerous than descending, for the
boat has to be poled and often hauled round right angles of rock just
outside which a tall hollow sea is jumping in a roaring cataract. If
the bows be once caught, away she goes broadside, and nothing will
stop her, and all hands at the tow-line go too. It is in this way that
all the swampings, as a rule, take place; but, except in Keng Kang, it
is seldom that any one is drowned. It is really astonishing at what a
rate these fellows run their boats with their poles up the most
difficult places, and then, holding on for a moment under the lee of a
rock, all hands but the steersman go overboard with the rope, and
fight from rock to rock in any speed or depth of current, avoiding
always the big waves. One soon learns to have a respect for these
exploits, for they mean having one's breath knocked out of one pretty
frequently, and a few good bumps and cuts, which, sad to say, have a
way of leaving some discomfort behind. But Laos and Siamese alike are
never known to grumble, and after a bout of the kind they squat down
above the rapid, light cigarettes, and laugh with enjoyment.
Fishing on the Nam Oo is very largely practised, the best time being
at the end of the rains, when the fish swarm. Across the heads of the
rapids are rows of stakes, and every twenty yards will be a fishing
shelter, just above a gap in the stakes, through which the fish are
expected to find their way. These shelters are light constructions,
built on groups of stakes, ballasted with stones, and strongly
buttressed on the lower sides. Notwithstanding these precautions,
however, when the river rose after heavy rains, which had already (in
March) begun higher up, and which delayed us very seriously, we saw
several of these shelters carried away bodily down stream. On the
upper side is a platform, on which the inhabitants (for they often
live, a whole family of them, in these places) may take the air. A
single bamboo with a handrail forms a connection with the long line of
stakes, by which they may reach the other shelters or get on shore;
but a small dug-out always lies moored below as well. Step inside the
house and all is dark, the light being carefully excluded, except
where it enters through a large hole in the floor; the _yah kah_, a
long jungle grass, with which the houses are always roofed, is carried
on each side right down to the water level, and the light thus only
enters through the water. Thus every fish for twelve feet down is
clearly seen, and there two men will sit smoking silently and gazing
intently by the hour into the water, every now and then hoisting out a
broad dip-net, spread by bamboos, with their prey. A spear is also
sometimes used. It is curious to see these people, with wife and
family, living on the narrow strip of flooring which goes round the
hole--in fact, the latter occupies most of the house; but they seem
very comfortable, and smoke, and cook, and feed, and sleep on a strip
3 feet wide with great complacency. The women were very much like the
little shy Ka Kaws, and smoked their long pipes and dressed just as
elaborately in their dark blue, with the same ornamented head-dresses.
However, most of these houses at this time of year were not inhabited,
and I only saw one or two families at home.
[Illustration: ASCENDING KENG LUANG, NAM OO.]
[Illustration: FISHING STAKES AND SHELTERS, NAM OO.]
Muang Ngoi, at which there was a Siamese military station, is most
beautifully situated among precipitous hills; it is one of the
prettiest places we saw, well-built, tidy, with a street (as generally
in towns in the province of Luang Prabang) running parallel with the
river. Immediately over it almost hang the limestones, all round
except on the east, up which the people grow their rice in the narrow
valley. Up here goes the trade route toward the Black River, and down
the track I met coming staggering in under their heavy loads many Ka
Kaws--women, girls, and boys. I call them Ka Kaws[7] for want of a
more accurate name; the Siamese called them all Khache, or Khamus,
which they are not. No one can discriminate among the infinite numbers
of these tribes, nor can they do it themselves, except with neighbours
of the next valleys.
They wore the prevailing blue; the women's head-gear often a tall,
blue cloth, with a little red showing at top, beads and shells. Large
rings, of four and more inches in diameter, hang from the ears, of
which the lobes are made very big. The weights they carry are
enormous; from casually lifting them I should say they were 45 to 50
pounds. The basket is held by a band which passes over the forehead;
the result is a stooping gait, the arms being swung across the body,
as a sailor's, as they walk or almost jog along. Two or three men
usually accompany the carriers; and the latter, even boys and girls,
have a terribly worn appearance. Yet greet them with the usual
questions: "Where are you bound for?" or "Where are you come from?"
"How many days out?" "Are you tired?" etc., and they reply with the
merriest laugh and smile, which is almost touching. Their faces have
very little of the Laos in them, or of the Chinese or Haws, and are
round and kind in expression.
The Siamese troops, only some twenty-five in number, were of fine
physique; but it is a fact (not a political statement) that
"aggression" and "advance" are utterly contrary to the purposes of the
frontier stations kept up by the Siamese Government.
We obtained bananas at one or two places and sugar-cane, and on the
way down, as the latter does not grow at Luang Prabang, we loaded our
boats deep with the canes, which were, however, short and not very
juicy. However, we kept the larder going with cormorants, which were
in great numbers both here and down the Mekong.
This brings me to the birds I was able to identify[8] while in the
Mekong drainage. Commonest were these same _cormorants_, which the
Laos call "crow duck," owing to their black colour and love for the
water. The large cormorant was continually to be seen sitting on
isolated rocks, often with his wings hung up to dry, in which position
he would suffer us to come very close. The small cormorants were
common in flocks, seldom singly, and, on our approach, would dive away
out of sight, not one remaining. Not expecting to see them, it was a
great pleasure to come across the beautiful little _terns_ swooping
and rushing over the water. One was either the whiskered tern or the
white-winged black tern--I think probably the latter, as the greyish
colour predominated with the dull-red bill and legs. They were
generally in back waters and temporary lakes formed in the sandbanks
by the fall of the river, and were in flocks. I did not secure any.
The black-billed tern--larger than the former, with its easily
distinguished orange-yellow bill and red feet, I got a specimen of.
They were fairly common, but even in March and April I found no nests.
Of the kingfishers I only saw on the Mekong one or two specimens of
the pied bird. Crossing from the Meinam, however, there was a very
small one we frequently met in the mountain streams flowing down to
that river, which would suddenly fly off up stream with a low whistle.
I did not procure any, but from its size it was probably the little
three-toed kingfisher. Another we constantly saw perched on a bamboo
overhanging the water, or poising in the air, must have been, from its
high colouring, the little Indian kingfisher.
Of herons, I saw, and shot, the large white heron (as on the Meinam),
singly and in flocks, on the sand-banks; the common heron, generally
stalking singly on the sand-spits, and hard to get near; the purple,
of which I saw two couples in the lowlands: the little black-billed
white heron, in flocks on the flat by the paddy fields; the cattle
egret, walking about with the buffaloes, or perched on their backs;
and the pond heron, which one would almost stumble upon, so invisible
was he on the ground, till away he sped aloft, and then the white
wings were clear cut against the blue sky overhead.
Of eagles, there was the osprey, with his white head, hovering after
fish, and a larger bird in swamps near the jungle, with white and
darting broad tail, and the upper plumage and breast brown, presumably
the bar-tailed fishing eagle. I saw some small species too, but never
shot any, and, except the black eagle in the forest-covered hills
soaring above us on the wing, and a large, slow, sluggish bird, like
that we saw on the Meinam, with a hoarse cry (qu. steppe eagle), I
seldom got a good view of them.
Adjutants, which they call _nok karien_, I saw in flocks of four, six,
or eight in the paddy fields of the Chieng Kong, Nam Ngau, and Khorat
plains. They were fairly tame, but with the rifle I could not get
nearer than 200 yards; the whistle of a bullet sent them sluggishly
flopping their great wings 50 yards or so on, and to follow them was
an endless pursuit.
Pea-fowl are very common here and on the Nam Nan.
Often and often, far overhead above the jungle, would come the
measured sound which the great pied hornbill makes with each sweep of
the wings, an indescribable sound, half a "whirr" and half the
"whistle of a sword swept through the air." They were always in
couples, and flew high.
The white ibis, walking about in flocks in shallow water, and the
little cotton teal goose, also in flocks, in swampy back waters, who
would dive and disappear to a man, I saw several times.
Two specimens of the large grey-headed imperial pigeon, with chestnut
back and wing coverts, were shot by my Tuon boatman in the hills above
the Meinam. The common "wood pigeon" is seen and heard all through
Siam. In the open plains and jungles a dove, of which I shot many for
breakfast, was very common; this seems to be the Malay spotted dove.
There are other doves common in different parts of Siam, and wagtails
and sandpipers innumerable, but I cannot now name them.
As to the _nok poot_, with his slight crest, dull red-wing coverts and
long dark green tail feathers, and his habit of drinking where he
finds water, and of running swiftly off into the low jungle, he must,
I think, be a pheasant. This is absolutely the commonest bird in the
country, and that "poot, poot" sound is never silent for long; at
night I have often heard a chorus of this sound from out the jungle
all round, and always at the hours of cock crow, _i.e._ 9 p.m.,
midnight, 3, and 6 a.m., as mentioned above. The cock in this country
is used for a timepiece at night, as well as a fighting champion by
day, and not a boat or an ox-cart, caravan, or a cottage in the whole
country but has its cock. One result of this cockfighting mania is
very funny: the birds become pets, as dogs and cats do with us, and
the small boys go out walking with these things carried lovingly in
their arms; you may see them stroking them and looking longingly into
their ugly faces as if they found some expression therein. But their
end is generally in a curry, and very tough they make it. This form of
sport is on the whole most outrageously general in Siam proper.
The total population of Luang Prabang, including that portion of the
province on the right bank, was just over 98,500. In the town itself
there cannot be more than about 9000; this only includes the Laos
proper, and not Lus, La was, or Khache.[9] It is difficult to judge of
the town, which straggles along the three or four main roads that have
recently been made around the central hill, and far beyond them out
into the plain, both inland, up the Nam Kan, and down the Mekong.
North of the town are also numbers of fairly large and prosperous
villages. The broadening out of the river here, the absence of rapids,
and the retirement to the eastward of the hill range, which forms a
sort of amphitheatre around the little plain, seems to have attracted
settlers from an early time. Still, either owing to the laziness of
the inhabitants or, as I think more probably, to the poverty of the
soil (which is the same barren red sandstone mentioned above), there
is certainly not much cultivation done here or on the other side of
the big river, where there is low-lying land behind the small range
which immediately abuts on the river there. The jungle, too, is itself
very thin and dwarfed. I hardly think laziness will account for this,
for peaceful tending of rice crops would be far easier work than
poling and struggling up Nam Oo rapids, which is the way the people
get their rice at present, going right up into the hills for it. Some
really beautiful silver-work is done, but fishing and killing pigs
seem to be the chief industry. There is a breed of the finest-shaped
and fiercest goats I have ever seen, which wander about the streets
and hill, and give the pariah dogs a rough time; but I did not see
that any other use was made of them.
The day we left, a letter arrived from the king in Bangkok, and was
received in great state by the Chow Luang; it was carried in state
down the road with gorgeous umbrellas above and flutes playing before.
This was _re_ the appointment of Phya Pechai as Commissioner--the
last.
The minimum temperature for these three weeks[10] was 61° up the Nam
Oo; the average minimum for ten days up that river, 64°; the average
maximum in the deck-house of the boat, 85°. The lowest maximum for
any day was 71°, but it was a "saft" day, with a solid deluge for
thirty-six hours. (The Laos cannot work in the rain; they shiver to
such an extent that the whole boat vibrates, so we spent a day sitting
in the boats. In this case I had 3 feet 3 inches head-room, 2 feet 4
inches extreme elbow-room, the boat being only 45 feet long.)
The maximum in Luang Prabang I did not get, being there very little by
day; the temperature in the jungle is much lower. Strong, hot winds
from south-west and thick haze was the rule except before the storms,
when the air became sultry, and then it blew a gale of wind from
north-west to north. The rains were beginning. Aneroid, which was
unreliable, 28.60 inches to 28.45 before squalls.
The first day out, going south from Luang Prabang, one of our double
boats filled and sank, ruining maps, notes, and other things. We
awaited the arrival of another at Pak Si, from whence one of our Laos
boatmen had also to be sent back. He had apparently abscess in the
liver; I could do nothing for him, and he sank rapidly. The stream
Hoay Si, a few miles inland, comes tumbling over a fine fall, where a
number of beautiful travertine terraces have been formed below, in
which the pools are of intense blue. All the trees, branches, twigs,
and leaves within reach of the foam are being encrusted with carbonate
of lime, and the effect is very beautiful, with the luxuriant growth
around.
Five days brought us to Paklai, whence the trail goes over to M.
Pechai on the Meinam. The journey up takes a fortnight, for this long
north and south reach is full of serious rapids. Two days and three
days below Luang Prabang are the rapids of Keng Seng and Keng Luang.
In the former, which tears over a rough bottom, my boat was completely
swamped, but was kept afloat by her bamboos. The latter is a very fine
sight, and is a narrow contraction, with a rough, inclined bottom; the
water tumbles off the bluff domes of the east bank in cascades of
foam, and from the west it is driven off in three hollow ridge-like
waves. In the centre, at first quietly, and with accelerating pace
goes the main mass, getting narrower, until with three huge
undulations, which send a boat half her length out of water as she
jumps down them, it tears into the embrace of the two raging, broken
currents coming off the banks, and there it leaps and foams and
thunders, echoing off the big black crystalline rocks from age to age.
Many boats are lost here, and just below lay the battered remains of a
fine craft of 65 feet, smashed from stem to stern. The Laos show
considerable sense in always taking breakfast before they try one of
these rapids, however early in the morning.
South of Keng Luang the river bed is narrow, and flows very fast among
slate rocks, dipping very steeply (50°, 60°, and upwards), west for
many miles, limestone hills lying back some way from the river. These
long reaches are very wild, with no sign of man. Birds, crocodiles,
and tigers, with occasional pig, "sua pah" or leopard, and deer reign
and fight and feed along the jungled banks.
Above Paklai begin the first wooded islands, of which there are many
below, and the whole river widens out and hills fall back. Here I was
able to get soundings with a 20-fathom line, and above the fine
limestone mass which distinguishes Ban Liep, we had 19, 17, 8, 6, 5,
3, and 2 fathoms as the river spread out; below it it narrowed down a
bit, and we had over 10 fathoms most of the way to Paklai, with now
and then 6 and 8. Paklai is a pretty little place, and is the official
port of departure for the north. There are good salas and elephant
stables, and a clearing by the river, a good landing in a creek among
the rocks, and plenty of boats and people. But here for the first time
we had the abominable little "luep," small black flies, which are a
far more irritating torture than mosquitos, and attack one's hands and
face by thousands. They are worst just about sunset as a rule, and
smoke or a strong breeze are the only things to keep them away, and to
sleep in a curtain of linen is absolutely necessary. The rains bring
them and most other jungle plagues.
From here the river begins to turn away to the south-east, with quite
a new phase of Mekong scenery--placid reaches half a mile wide, with
gently sloping banks, the hills low and gentle in their curves, more
like some upper reaches in the Meinam, or a bit of Thames. The change
was delightful, as it always is, and continued for two days to Chieng
Kan, with only one break at Keng Mai, a rapid over a shallow, shelving
bank, where the water storms with a bar of white crests right across,
like sea breaking on a reef. Decks were cleared and the hands set
baling, and we all went through in style, but the cook's boat, which
got the least bit athwart the current, was caught in the rough water,
and swamped with our rice. The depths down to the town are 1, 2, up to
5 fathoms.
Chieng Kan is built along the southern bank (for here the river begins
an east-north-east course), with a fine paddy-growing plain behind it,
and is about a mile long, with an indifferent road passing along it.
The most remarkable things about the place are the immense numbers of
coconut palms, and the cheapness of the fruit;[11] the number of
Burmese British subjects (who out of the kindness of their hearts
supplied one with any amount of provisions); and the fact that the
Laos women cut their hair short like the Siamese. The people are a
friendly, pleasant race. A good deal of fishing is done here, and in
poling the small craft up stream, a small rudder is used over the
outside (in this case starboard) quarter to prevent the boat running
round, as also at Luang Prabang and Nongkhai. These rudders are fixed,
and do their work alone as a rule, but are sometimes in bigger boats
fitted with a yoke and long bamboo tiller (as used together in
Norwegian boats), the latter reaching to the fore deck. Sometimes in
the evening, as the people lie tending their fish-baskets, the boats
look, with their up-turned ends and small shelter (in which the man's
clothes or his net, with its weights and buoys, may be put) which
stands almost amidships, like a distant gondola.
[Illustration: RUDDER.]
[Illustration: BOATS FISHING.]
This province, which is under Pechai, is undoubtedly very rich in
mineral, but the distances and difficulties of transport are at
present against its development. There is a rich, alluvial gold
deposit northward, and a variety of ores occur south toward M. Loey,
including massive iron-ore beds.
After some stay, we set out with fresh boats and crews, and were five
days passing the wild rapids between here and Wieng Chan. The river
finds its way among low hills in a narrow, deep channel between
clay-slate rocks alternating with sandstones and conglomerates with a
general easterly dip. The rapids are of the whirlpool and eddy
character, and extend for miles on end; the water is in places
confined to a width of 150 feet, and the rushes, boilings, spinnings,
and general deafening pandemonium which results is astounding; not one
place is like another, nor one whirlpool like the next. Numbers of
boats never get through here, as they, in spinning round in a
whirlpool or sudden explosion of water, get their ends ashore and
smashed on the rocks. It was a most tiring time for the men, deep down
in the heat of this great rock ditch, with no wind to cool the air,
and above on either hand a good half-mile of rocks and vast spaces of
sand shimmering in the hot sun.
[Illustration: LAST OF THE HILLS ABOVE WIENG CHAN.]
Just above Wieng Chan the hills disappear. The last of them are a
flat-bedded red sandstone, passing into a conglomerate, the huge slabs
lying in rows beside the water. The river opens out between them into
a beautiful wide lake, known as the Hong Pla Buk, from the numbers of
those big fish caught here. The scene on a quiet evening was
beautiful, with the terns dipping and darting about us. Here in the
deep still water, we heard again, as we used to do in the Meinam, the
"talking" of the _Pla liu ma_ (dog's-tongue fish) beneath the boat; it
is a grunt similar to that of the gurnard, only very much louder and
more sonorous, and you may hear several at a time chattering away
under you.
Camped on some of these huge sandstone blocks, we had a good
opportunity of watching the polishing power of the wind-swept sand,
which, next to the rushing water, with its enormous burden of
sediment, is the agent by which all the rock surfaces of the Mekong
get the wonderful polish which makes them so peculiar. The exterior
appearances are often entirely deceptive, and the sun glistens off
them as off a looking-glass. Yet the points and pinnacles, especially
among the schists, are terribly sharp, often cutting the feet like
knives. The polish the red granite takes just west of this, and the
beauty of the veined limestone boulders further north, are a delight
to look at.
At Wieng Chan, on the north bank, hardly a hill is in sight; all round
plains, bamboos, and palms. The site of the old city, which was
destroyed in 1827 by the Siamese for rebellion, is a mass of
jungle-covered ruins. The remains of the old brick wall, and of the
great Wat Prakaon, are very fine; the latter rises from a series of
terraces, up which broad flights of steps lead, and is of large
proportions. The effect of height is increased by the perpendicular
lines of the tall columns, which support the great east and west
porticos, and which line the walls along the north and south; the
windows between the latter being small, and narrower at top than at
the bottom, also lead the eye up. A second outer row of columns once
existed, and the effect must have been very fine. Now the roof is
gone, and the whole structure crowned by a dense mass of foliage, as
is the case with all the remains of smaller buildings not yet
destroyed. One very beautiful little pagoda at the west end is now
encased in a magnificent peepul tree which has grown in and around it,
and has preserved it in its embrace. There are remains of several
deep-water tanks, and the grounds, which were surrounded by a brick
wall, must once have been beautiful. But the best thing at Wieng Chan,
or the old city, as they call it, is the gem of a monastery known as
Wat Susaket. It is a small building, the wat itself, of the usual
style, with the small lantern rising from, the central roof, as at
Luang Prabang. The walls are very massive, and, with the height
inside, the place was delightfully cool; all round the interior from
floor to roof the walls are honeycombed with small niches in rows, in
which stand the little gilt "prahs," looking out imperturbably,
generally about 8 inches in height.
[Illustration: THE RUINS OF WAT PRAKAON, WIENG CHAN.]
[Illustration: NICHE AND STATUE.]
Round this building outside runs a rectangular cloister, which faces
inwards, and here, at one time, the monks were living among the
statues which stand round the walls, many of these 3 and more feet
high, while the walls too are ornamented with niches similar to those
inside the main building. In the centre of each side there is a
gateway surmounted by a gable, there being also similar ornaments at
each corner. The beauty and the retired air of the court inside could
not be surpassed, and the effect of the green grass, the white walls,
the low-reaching red-tiled roofs, and the deep shadows is charming;
there is nothing flat, nothing vulgarly gaudy, and very little that is
out of repair. And here, as is most noticeable in the remains of the
other buildings about, the proportions are perfect. In this the ruined
remains of Wieng Chan surpass all the other buildings I have seen in
Siam, and bear witness to a true artistic sense in the builders.
Though the old city is not inhabited, and the site thereof seems under
a curse, the villages along the bank of the river, both above and
below, have a flourishing appearance, and the paths along the river,
with their cool shade, were full of people.
[Illustration: SOUTH-WEST ANGLE, WAT SUSAKET, WIENG CHAN.]
Leaving Wieng Chan, we had our last and most curious experience of the
Meinam Kong and its wanton ways. A vast mass of heavy thunderclouds
lay to the east, south-east, and south, and into this, as happens in
the rainy season, a strong draught of air, first from south-west, then
west, and then north-west, was blowing. This began to freshen, and
with two square sails I got rigged to my ship we made very good way,
until it began blowing really hard and a sea got up, the water being
here over half a mile in width, with 2, 3, and 5-fathom soundings; we
then had to strike sail, while astern a vast cloud of sand, twigs,
leaves, and even pebbles, came sweeping along with a roar. The other
three boats were, when we saw them last, just broaching to, all close
together. The Laos, who face rapids or elephants with composure, quite
lost their heads, and the only use to be made of them was to set them
to hang on to the deck-house, which was being carried out of the ship.
She tried very hard to swamp herself, for when the squall came up the
strength was terrific, and the seas hollow and breaking solidly.
However, by keeping her stern to it, we shot on through the thick
darkness, frequently belaboured with missiles, and after a great deal
of difficulty in weathering a lee shore we got round a point and
brought up, after two rattan ropes had been carried away. Meantime
many dug-outs passed us waterlogged and adrift, and when at last the
wind got to the north and fell not a boat was in sight. Except our
own, every other craft in the river had been swamped, including our
other three boats, which were carried broadside into the lee shore we
had got round, and had a handsome battering. Everything in them was
full of water, while the men escaped and sat on shore till it was all
over, and when they arrived at Ban Bar, where we lay for the night,
they did not seem to have enjoyed the fun at all.
This village is more Siamese than Laos in appearance; there are
numbers of Chinamen of unprepossessing appearance and manners, who
kept shops and pariahs. The latter was a nuisance we had been
comparatively free from; in fact, on the upper river, at Chieng Kong,
there were very decent breeds to be seen, and Chow Benn Yenn got from
one of his villages a beautiful black-and-tan collie, exactly like a
good specimen at home, with the exception that he had a short tail
like a manx cat. It was a beautiful dog and a capital sporting animal.
The long black-haired and black-tongued "Chow" dog we saw several
times, and also small, brown, long-haired animals with high, curled
tails. A peculiarity about these dogs was that, being accustomed to
the Laos _kao neo_, when we got back to Siam and _kao chow_ (the
ordinary rice), they would have none of it.
The next day we reached Nongkhai, and were very cordially welcomed by
Krom Prachak, a brother of the king, who is Commissioner. The town
owes its existence to the fall of Wieng Chan, and is scattered along
the south bank; there is a considerable number of Chinamen keeping
shops here, and to them and its character as the official centre, it
owes its importance. The houses extend all along the river-side for a
mile and a half, mostly well shaded by areca and coconut palms. Here
once more, on the great plain lying to the south, we saw the tall,
gaunt sugar palms standing against the sky, and again saw the _kiens_,
or ox-carts, with their long, black hoods, wending their slow way in
single file, the groaning, grunting, and shrieking, which accompanies
their every movement and jerk, coming slowly down the wind. Here once
more, sad to say, we came across a character most of us have known in
Siam--the _kamoë_, or thief--and we hadn't been an hour in the place
before he had begun work. Here, too, we again heard the horrid sound
of chains, dragged along the hot, dusty road by wretched, emaciated
creatures carrying water--hardly strong enough to lift the chains at
their ankles. And here, again, were, among the decent houses, dirty,
squalid cottages and drunkenness. The fact is, the cattle-driving
people of the plains become by their occupation different in character
to the mountaineers; it was very noticeable, striking right upon them
here, how much more stolid and less expressive their faces are, how
black and muddy--or dusty if the rain keeps off--they become in their
long, slow rides upon their carts, and, in general, how like their own
sleepy, blinking buffaloes they become--as, too, one may see in the
great plains of India. The circumstances and conditions of life are
all different; and drinking slow-running mud, which they
euphemistically call water, sloshing laboriously through seas of
reeking bog and swamp, and enduring the tormenting bites of
innumerable huge flies, which attack elephants, buffaloes, oxen,
horses, and men indiscriminately, but untiringly, must result in a
differently developed man from that built up by mountain marches, high
aloft on dry hillsides or deep down in cold stream beds, leaping from
rock to stone or plunging into the rushing water, where life is a
perfect fight. Not that the plains are always so disagreeable; given
the dry, cool months of December and January, travelling in them
becomes a luxury; but there is never the same exhilarating air or the
same pure water.
The Commissioner's house is at the western end of the town, surrounded
by the sheds of the military detachment. At the back a very pretty
garden is being made; and this and a new straight road, inland of the
present street and parallel with it, are the works of construction on
hand. The ground on each side of the new road--which, by its unlovely
straightness, carried one far away to similar ugliness in civilized
lands, and was the only unnatural thing we saw--is being eagerly
applied for by the Chinese; but a great drawback must for some time be
the absence of shade. The river is undoubtedly cutting into the soft
laterite bank here, and in a few years the old site will go down with
a run.
Prince Prachak is a reformer; he is very keen in "reforming the Laos,"
but is grieved to find they don't want to be reformed. He says--what
is very true--that their work is always desultory (one month they
plant rice, another they go fishing, another they wash gold in the
sands), and that they will not settle down into trades. They prefer,
too, to play music on their kans in the evenings to doing more useful
things, and are, in fact, lazy. But I fear it is not surprising, and
that it will be some time before the Laos take to trades.
The Chinese shopkeepers import their goods from Bangkok through
Khorat, and the journey, in the matter of shoes or felt hats from
London, increases the price about one _salung_ at the first place, and
two by the time they reach Nongkhai. They show for sale calico goods
of all colours and patterns (as one sees in Bangkok for "panungs,"
"pahs," etc.), shoes, sandals, belts, pots and pans, matches, Chinese
umbrellas, and teapots, the first mostly English, and as they sell
these well, they tell you with a grin they soon make their fortunes
and retire.
The wats are wretched little places, ill built and ill kept, the most
interesting thing being the bell of the principal wat, which is a huge
hollowed timber, some 3 feet in diameter and 7 feet high, hung to a
crossbar at the top. Struck end on with a stout pole, the sound is
deep and sonorous. This form, but usually smaller, is often used in
Siam, and for attaching to the necks of elephants or oxen (which
invariably have a bell), there are clappers hung on a string on each
side, which keep up a continual tinkle. Fixed on a bent bamboo, the
same form of bell is used by fishermen on the shore end of their set
lines to give warning of a big fish or other disturbance. There is
always a slit up, about a quarter of the way, slightly wider at the
top, on each side.
[Illustration: BELL.]
The weather from the time we left Luang Prabang to the time we reached
Nongkhai had the unsettled character of the beginning of the rains,
though it was only April month. South-westerly winds and haze by day,
low heavy clouds in the evenings, and thunderstorms of great violence,
with strong squalls of wind shifting round by west and north-west to
north at night, making sleep impossible while they lasted, and
generally driving into the boats everywhere. The lowest and highest
readings of the thermometer were, on the same day when we arrived at
Chieng Kan, after some heavy storms, 63° Fahr. at sunrise, 104° at 2
p.m. in the boats. For the rest of the time, the average minimum was
72°, generally half an hour before sunrise. The average maximum in
the shade, 92° (in the boats). In the shady sala, on the tree-covered
bank at Nongkhai, we never had over 89°, and, whether owing to the
advent of the rains or not I do not know, it was much cooler and
pleasanter than Luang Prabang had been, and all our sick men, with one
or two exceptions, mended entirely; while at the former place (as too
in the case of Mr. Archer's party) everyone had had turns of fever or
bad headaches.
[Illustration: BELL-CLAPPER AND JOINT.]
[Illustration: BAMBOO BELL.]
The coinage here was once more the tical, with only an occasional
rupee. At Luang Prabang the two, with their small silver subdivisions,
are both taken; but in Nan no Siamese money would pass, strings of
areca nut being used for small change, as cowries are at Luang
Prabang.
_Note on the "Kan."_
The Kan, the reed-organ used so much among the northern Lao tribes, is
remarkable for the sweetness of its tones, and the fact that the
intervals of the notes are correct according to our musical ideas, and
have a true key-note, the pitch of the instrument depending on its
length.
Thus the five-sok kan (9 feet 4 inches long) is in the key of G--one
sharp.
The four-sok kan (6 feet 8 inches) in the key of D--two sharps.
The two-sok kan (3 feet 4 inches) in the key of F--one flat.
These are the lengths most usual, but six soks is sometimes used; it
possesses very fine low tones, but requires powerful lungs, although
the notes are produced by inspiration and respiration.
The number of reeds never exceeds fourteen, and the arrangement of
notes is as follows, numbering the reeds in couples from the mouth of
the little air-chamber:--The two reeds, 1, are played with the thumb;
left 1 being the key-note; right 2 being the lower octave of the same.
The octave thus goes from right 2, to 3, 4, 5 and 6 left (or right 3,
which is the same) on to right 4, 5, and back to the thumb note on
left 1.
[Illustration: FOUR-SOK KAN (1 INCH TO 2 FEET).]
[Illustration: TWO-SOK KAN.]
Below the key-note right 2 come left 2 and right 1, and above the
upper key-note, right 6 and 7 and left 7; thus, in the D kan of four
soks, we get--
[Illustration: Notes on a musical stave, denoted as "LEFT." and
"RIGHT."]
There are no sharps or flats possible, and only half filling the
holes, as in a fife, will not produce them, the note being got by the
vibration of small tongues of metal fitted in the side of the reed.
Hence, possibly, the epithet "monotonous," which has been generally
given them; and hence the fact that a good player generally has more
than one. Their playing is very fast and effective, but is at first
hard to follow or properly understand. The mouth-piece is made of the
fruit of the _mai lamut_, and being very hard, takes a lot of work in
being hollowed out, and will receive a good polish outside; two
parallel slits are cut along the top and bottom, and the two rows of
bamboos fitted in, and the whole made airtight with beeswax. In case
of damage to one of the reeds, it is quite simple to undo the grass
bands which are put round at intervals, to remove the beeswax, and
take out the reed; often a gentle flick on the reed will set the metal
tongue vibrating again when momentarily out of order. The reeds, by
being put over the fire, are often very prettily marked.
[Illustration: AIR-CHAMBER.]
They can hardly be obtained in Siam, except where Laos are situated.
The Wieng Chan men, who are all over the country since the city was
destroyed and they were sent south, are the best makers and players,
and a few colonies of them are to be met with in the neighbourhood of
Bangkok. This fact of their love for this highest of Indo-Chinese
instruments, coupled with the fine remains of the old city, certainly
support the idea that at Wieng Chan there was civilization and taste
ahead of those of the surrounding places.
With regard to the music, it is impossible, without a long study of
it, to say more than that they are very fond of the minor, that they
use the octaves very much in playing, that the key-note may often be
heard down for a long time, and the time is generally a rapid horse's
trot, or quick march. At Nongkhai, I heard two men play a most
beautiful and stately march which made one's flesh creep; it was all
in the major, and in some parts irresistibly reminded one of the
famous march in _Saul_. One of these was a six-sok instrument, and the
effect surpassed anything I've heard in the country. They were on
their way to a marriage-festival when I met them in the road; they had
no fiddles or flutes with them, and were followed by a number of
people marching with them to their airs. They willingly stopped,
squatted down, and gave us half an hour's concert in the shade.
[Footnote 4: Called "weehan," or shrine.]
[Footnote 5: Such as the Ka Hoks.]
[Footnote 6: Termed, when so drunk, "yah," or medicine. It is slightly
pungent, and is said to be good in dysentery, and especially for
keeping off fever in malarious places.]
[Footnote 7: Probably they were Kuis.]
[Footnote 8: By the help of E. W. Oates' capital handbook to the
'Birds of British Burmah.']
[Footnote 9: The Khache, or Khamus, are very much confused with the
Lawas, and are much like them.]
[Footnote 10: To the end of March.]
[Footnote 11: Eight for a fuang = one-eighth of a tical, or 7½ cents
of a dollar. At Pechai we got one for a fuang.]