NONGKHAI TO KHORAT AND BANGKOK (_April and May_, 1893).
From Nongkhai we left in regular rainy weather for Khorat, with 14
"kiens" or ox-carts, there being two oxen and a driver to each. Twelve
of these are about equal in carrying capacity to sixteen elephants as
loaded for hilly country--two extra we had for sick men, of whom we
still had two unable to walk; and these two, moreover, were the best
protected with charms of all the men with us. These charms were small
wooden _prahs_, very roughly cut, which they sew up in a bag of calico
and wear round the neck and arm. No amount of chaff will persuade them
that these things will not protect them from falling trees, and
_dhâp_ (or sword) cuts, as well as the _Pi_ of the forest or river.
Another danger from which they declared these things protected the
whole party, were the mermaids in the Mekong. Against these creatures
I was constantly warned when having a swim, especially above Luang
Prabang; they described them as the "women of the water," who would
drag a man down and drown him. Where could this notion have come from,
so singularly like our own stories?[12] South of Luang Prabang, one
heard very little of these damsels, and much more of the _pla bûk_.
On one occasion I pitched one of these charms overboard, and the
owner, who was sick, promptly got well next day, to his no small
astonishment.
Following the telegraph line, the great trail to Khorat is 211 miles
or so, but _detours_ have often to be made in search of villages which
are generally off the main track some little distance, and this is
necessary for commissariat purposes. For traders, the journey
generally occupies 16 to 21 days, according to the condition of the
oxen and state of the weather. When it rains, no advance is possible,
as, unlike the buffaloes, the oxen cannot work in rain, and hate it,
and seem to lose all their pluck; besides which, the yoke working on
the damp neck tends to produce bad sores.
The _kiens_, of which we frequently met long caravans, are the ships
of this desert--for such this plain is often for days at a time.
Nothing but wood is used in the construction, as the bumping and
straining is too great for any metal fastenings. The body of the
carriage proper is very light, like a cariole in shape; the pole to
which the yoke is attached spreading and passing along to the rear
underneath. The wheels, which are very broad, and the heaviest things
in the whole, turn on an axletree of hard wood (_Mai Kabao_, sometimes
_Mai Deng_), which is fitted in a socket of solid wood under the car,
at the inner end, and at the outer to an "outrigger," which is lashed
at its end to cross-pieces firmly placed at right angles at the front
and rear ends of the car. Thus the weight is distributed on many
points; a few ready-cut extra pieces of mai kabao are taken, and when
with a lurch and a dive one of the axletrees gives way, the
"outrigger" is unlashed at one end, and pulled outwards till the
axletree comes out of its socket; it is then pulled out of the wheel,
and a new one fitted in in a quarter of an hour. Similarly, lashings
may now and then give way, but a new one is put on in five minutes.
Over all a closely plaited cover is fitted, with a long peak forward,
reaching out over where the driver sits on the pole; and in this a man
may sleep protected from sun and rain. The length of the car is about
7 feet and 3 feet wide. Travelling in it is only possible to a person
who is accustomed to it, the jerking being so tremendous. If there
were roads it would be possible with some degree of comfort, and,
though dusty, they keep cool inside.
[Illustration: KIEN.]
The oxen are capital animals for their purpose, and when tired and
hungry can be turned loose with a certainty that in a quarter of an
hour they will have satisfied themselves; the moment they have had
enough, even of the rankest grass, they are ready to go on; their
patience and perseverance, even in the worst swamps, pestered with
flies and leeches, is wonderful. A frisky one, however, can do no end
of damage, and can kick and plunge and drag the _kien_, even when
loaded, at a gallop over any kind of country, and even the rein in his
nose will not hold him. On occasions of this sort, some damage is
often done to the cart, and delay occasioned. Their kick is very
quick, and pretty severe. They are always used by the Laos, though
seldom used by the Siamese of the south.
The buffalo, which wallows in the water all over Siam, is generally
kept for working the rice or sugar mills, and is only occasionally
used by the Laos in a larger cart of the same kind; but he is very
surly, wilful, and erratic. Large droves of them are taken south from
the Nongkhai neighbourhood, where their price is 12 to 15 ticals, to
Khorat, where their price is double; the demand for them and oxen
being very great in that neighbourhood. The best ponies come from the
neighbourhood of M. Chulabut, but they are also very cheap round
Khorat. At the former place, I saw some capital beasts, and from that
neighbourhood and the south at Pachim the cheapest ponies are
obtainable. Prices for a good carrier range from 50 to 100 ticals,
though an average pony of three years old, which will carry one fairly
well in ordinary jungle work, may be obtained for 35 to 40 ticals.
They are very small, and have a peculiar fast trot, which makes rising
in the saddle impossible; the Siamese or Laos always sit tight in the
saddle, legs almost touching the ground. At Chulabut, I saw a small
creature of ten hands which was very wild, and the owner wanted to get
rid of him for 8 ticals; he was a wonderful little beast, and very
fiery. Another I was offered for 20, and another for 30; but they
would be useless for Europeans.
For two days we travelled fairly easily, leaving the slight
cultivation near Nongkhai, and travelling through low, shadeless
jungles, passing here and there salt-boiling pans, at which the most
work is done after the rainy season, there being at other times no
water. The salt covers the ground in an efflorescence, and that
produced by the villages is coarse and bitter. The soil in the jungles
is sandy, there being gentle undulations on the northern side, on
which the sand is deepest; on the southern the trail going over rough
laterite. In the depressions occur the _nongs_, or swamps, of which
the plateau is full, and which in the wet weather, with their mud and
deep water, make travelling almost (and in most places quite)
impossible. In the neighbourhood of the main streams, which all run
from west to east to the Mekong, villages are established, and the
scrub jungle gives place to the welcome bamboo clumps and the high
betel and coconut palms, which, like church spires at home, announce
to the traveller far away that he is approaching the habitations of
men.
The absence of good water, and the change in it, made several of the
men very ill, and on the third morning I found one of the original
invalids, who had had a lot of fever on the Mekong, had every sign of
abscess in the liver. I knew at Khorat there might be a doctor, so
took two men with me, with three _kiens_ and their drivers, pushed on,
and arrived in nine days. The man recovered there, and was well enough
to go on with us from Khorat afterwards.
I had heard so much of the goodness of the trail following the
telegraphic clearing all the way, and of the bridges and salas, that I
was very much surprised at the reality. It was the worst track we had
followed, and there were only two salas which had roofs on them the
whole way, one having been put up at his own expense by an officer at
Chulabut. The rest were blackened stumps, and solitary corner posts,
from which every bit of roofing and flooring had been removed; two of
these having just roof enough to keep out the dew, but no more.
Cheerless places enough to reach an hour after sunset, after having
marched all day in the scorching morning sun and the deluge of rain
which came every afternoon and continued most of the night.
However, though after the Hill Laos, their "white-bellied" brethren of
the plains were in some ways disappointing, I am bound to say that the
men who were driving our kiens behaved splendidly; one of them was
formerly a sergeant, and knew his drill and the English words of
command once used in the Siamese army well. He was the lightest and
warmest-hearted man I ever travelled with, besides being, what is not
too common in the East, a really smart man. He was the headman of our
caravan, and I had told him that I must get on as fast as was possible
to Khorat, and he must help; he jumped at it. I asked him how quick we
could do it from Soug Prue. "Ten days." I told him, in that case we
could also do it in nine, and he was delighted, and used to turn us
out at four o'clock with his loud _sawang lëo_ (daylight come), long
before there was a sign of light, and then laugh and say, "Nine days,
master." And so, whatever the weather, however long we stood waiting
in the rain for the oxen to rest their necks before goading them on
again, none of these men with me ever thought of growling; and the
Siamese were the same. The pony I had brought on soon got a sore back,
so there was not much riding, except when it came to swimming a
stream.
The bridges were three in number only; one was possible, the other two
were unfortunately not connected with the southern bank, so that in
one case at Meinam Chieng Kun, the waggons, after having the oxen
taken out, are hauled over the loose flooring of the bridge and
dropped at the end into five feet of mud and water; in the other every
one avoids the bridge altogether. Now, at very small expense, for the
labour can be obtained for the necessary time from the neighbourhood,
good bridges might be erected all along this route; as it is, the
journey, as soon as the waters begin to rise, is of the most difficult
and arduous kind for all these caravans.
Krom Prachak is very eager for a light railway from Khorat to
Nongkhai. At least years must elapse before it can be done, but in
three months a good cart-road might be made, pile bridges put up, and
salas repaired; then it would be possible to judge of the chances of
such a railway, and the groundwork for it would be already laid. At
the present moment this undulating country, which should be easy to
travel, is worse provided with communications than the greater part of
the hill villages in Nan, and infinitely worse provided with shelter
than in the most out-of-the-way mountain valleys north. Yet, wherever
we went, the same kindly Laos welcome was given us, except in places
where there were Siamese settlements near by, and friction had
probably occurred among the petty officials.
Some of the villages, to which we went slightly off the trail, such as
Ban Tum, between the Nam Puang and Meinam Si (both big streams, very
deep and swift when the water rises, flowing through extensive paddy
plains and swamps), Chulabut one day south of it, and Ban Bodibun just
north of Khorat, were perfect gem villages, rich in palms, rice, and
cattle, with kindly people, who did all in their power to overfeed us
before we started. At the former places, where there were Siamese
officials, everything was very neat, and the relations between them
and the Laos seemed to be most happy. This is, naturally, not always
the case; but I am bound to say that, wherever the official is one of
some standing, this state of things is the usual one. Cultivation goes
on round the villages; but as soon as one gets a couple of miles away,
the sandy jungle or the _nongs_ resume their sway. The latter are the
most peculiar feature of the region, and cover a vast area, which is
larger to the eastward. Some of them are merely small swamps, with
shallow water and long reeds, extending over a surface of one or two
square miles; others, again, are extensive areas, in which water and
reeds are the only object the eye meets for miles, with here and there
a little green island, where trees exist, and, in the distance, the
low, long, green line of the jungle along its edge; an ideal home for
the various herons, and other long-legged waders, but, alas! also
tenanted by leeches and by flies, who attacked us all. The poor little
oxen, at the end of a few miles, especially if the sun came out for a
little in the burning way it does between rains, were covered with
clouds of the latter, their necks and nose, humps and legs, smeared
with blood. No resting is possible, for every moment a stop is made
the deeper everything sinks into the mud; so it is plunging and
struggling to the next little island, where we would stop and cook
breakfast with a score of other weary mud-bespattered carts. Besides
these, we also met some pack-oxen going north to get salt; but as the
water was out everywhere, they would have to wait before returning
south. One may roughly say that the salt efflorescence occupies the
low grounds, between the slightly higher laterite jungle ridges, which
are yet just higher than the surface of the _nongs_. The villages in
the neighbourhood are generally wretchedly dirty and untidy in
appearance; the growth is only stunted bamboo, and the whole place
uninviting enough.
The cold weather, with its advantages of dryness and absence of
insects, has also the disadvantage that water is very scarce. When we
crossed, the whole low-lying area may be said to have been under
water, but water of such a description that it was only here and there
that it was fit for man to drink; while in the sandy forests the
water, all perforating through, drained off at once, and the lower
ends of the track, where it began to rise toward the ridges, were, on
the other hand, lakes of mud. Thus, between endless seas of bad water
and long miles of sand, the water question remains almost as serious
in the rains as in the dry weather. The villages, as a rule, have a
well, and the water from the wells is fair.
The method of travelling usually adopted with the _kiens_ is an early
start at dawn, and a journey of some 300 sen (7½ miles), when a stop
is made to feed man and beast; and, if going easily, a start will not
be made until 3 or 4 p.m., when another 300 sen will be done before
night--a speed of 15 miles a day, occupying about 6 hours, at about
100 sen (2½ miles) an hour. This is very fair work for ox-carts over
a well-worn track, which is, of course, much rougher and harder to
travel than the jungle itself, the ruts spreading wide for a breadth
of 30 yards or so, and being of any depth that a _kien_ wheel can dig
to. But this exceeds the average.
Being in a hurry, we did about 21 miles a day for nine days, but had
three relays of oxen. This involved--at about 8 to 10 hours'
travelling by day, with the delays necessary to get new oxen, two
half-day rests, and fording the streams (where the waggons had to be
often carried over on the men's shoulders)--a good deal of night
travelling, which in rain, and heavy trails full of pitfalls, does not
commend itself as a rule. It will be seen, therefore, that the rate of
travelling is slow, and would be sufficiently increased for all
present purposes by improvements in the trail, and at the crossing of
the rivers. Men who are walking have, of course, the advantage, and
sometimes do 24 or 25 miles a day with their packs. The latter are
usually carried on the two ends of a long bamboo, and are fitted with
legs below, so that, stooping down, the weight is at once taken off
the shoulder. When he wants to rest, out of one of his panniers the
man takes his mat to sit on, and lays it between the panniers, and
over the pole above he places the _bai larn_ (a covering of palm
leaves sewn together, some 6 feet by 5 feet) to keep off the sun or
rain, and this is his house while he is on his journey. _Dhâps_ are
rare here, and heavy knives are used for cutting down jungle to place
round at night, or leaves to place under the bed. From travellers of
this sort, going south, we often bought wild honey, in long bamboos--2
feet of a 3-inch diameter bamboo selling for a fuang. They sometimes
set traps, and are successful in catching rabbits.
There are a few deer to be heard, and tigers are rare, except round
Chulabut, where a man was killed after we had left, the day the main
body arrived there.
We picked up a rather curious fellow-traveller when about six days
from Khorat, and he accompanied us to within a day of the town. This
was a rather decent-looking pariah dog, of quite remarkable character.
Unasked he joined us, and trotting often with me in advance, or half a
mile ahead, or right behind us all, his short sharp bark might be
continually heard in the jungle to right or left as he hunted his
breakfast. Of what this consisted I never knew, but he kept himself in
fair condition, for he got very little from us, poor thing, as we did
not want to encourage him; he got more kicks than ha'pence. But he
stuck to us, and even when we overhauled other parties going south,
instead of stopping and going leisurely with them, he always came on
with us. He was evidently accustomed to travelling, and knew the
trail, for he was often absent half a day, but would turn up in the
evening, and lie near us for the night. When we halted, and placed the
waggons round us, and the men put their sleeping-mats underneath them,
he would come as near the fire as he dare to get dry and warm.
Sometimes in the heat at noon, when the sun had been blazing upon us
in the sandy jungle, we would come upon him lying in a _nong_, with
only his eyes nose, and mouth out of water; while in the rain he
plodded stolidly along, and would sit down and wag his dripping tail
when he saw we were going to camp.
[Illustration: THE NORTH GATE AND NAM NUN, KHORAT.]
At length we saw the high line of foliage topped by palms which marks
Khorat, and through seas of mud, arrived on the bank of the Nam Nun,
which flows along the northern wall of the city. Across the ford were
groups of waggons encamped to the number of about fifty, and by an old
wat under the shade a busy market was going on. The Commissioner here,
Phra Prasadit, is the same stamp of man as the Commissioner at Luang
Prabang: one of those energetic, warm-hearted, and cheerful men who
make such excellent governors. He was kindness itself to us, and all
the men under him reflected it. In Siam, where every man has in
proportion to his importance numbers of others attached to him by a
kind of feudal relationship, and where his office clerks and his
lieutenants all have a personal connection with him, and almost form
part of his family, the influence which can be exerted is unbounded,
and by the expressions of face of the inferiors the superior may be
judged. Moreover, the Commissioner in Khorat is a man of ideas, has
been in Europe, and has a good knowledge of English and a fair
knowledge of French, and in all political questions in these countries
he takes a great interest; and thus his company was very pleasant.
The centre of the town we found not yet recovered from an extensive
fire; all round the four sides run the lofty red-brick walls, with
gates in the centre of each side, protected by round towers at the
flanks, in which laterite blocks have been extensively used. The whole
is much dilapidated and overgrown, and the moat outside has become
nearly filled up. The Commissioner had then 3000 men at work clearing
it out again. This will probably enormously benefit the town, which at
present may be described as an accumulation of houses, mainly in
ruins, jungle patches, and swamps, on every side of which rises the
great mound on which the walls stand, and which effectually shuts in
every drop of water, and in the rains transforms the whole area into a
lake. With openings made under the walls to drain off the water into
the moat, and with a raising of the level inside, an enormous
improvement will be effected. As the town stands well on a slight rise
above the plain level, and is surrounded with similar ridges covered
only with beautiful turf going miles towards the south, south-west,
and south-east, it may become a healthy and attractive place. The
plain around is dotted with villages; for many miles the soil
certainly produces a fine clean rice and abundance of fruit. Going out
in the morning along any of the great trails to the west, north, or
east, one passes among crowds of camped _kiens_, and among villages
and markets, the latter always held along one side of the road. At the
time we were there mangoes were in full swing, and all the women's
baskets full of them, bananas, coconuts, ready-rolled cigarettes,
brown cakes of palm sugar of an excellent quality, and very often the
fruit of the sugar palm, which is very much enjoyed. To the south and
west the trails are really like beautiful roads, for they go through a
pretty red sand soil, leading to the flat-bedded sandstones of the
hills, which makes good walking, and, even when swamped with a foot of
water, never causes mud. On the north and east, however, on slightly
lower ground, these sandy ridges are less frequent; the villages, when
possible, are built on them for health and convenience, while the
paddy is grown below. The trails on these sides, passing chiefly
through this low land, are in the rains two or three feet deep in
thick, clinging mud.
If the houses of the Thai (in which for the moment we may include the
Siamese and Laos together) are in the city badly situated in swamp and
jungle, and badly kept in repair, the houses of the Chinese are very
different; they are the flourishing part of the community. There are
some thousands of them here and in the neighbourhood, nearly all
shopkeepers, and outside the west gate, and along the main trail on
each side, they have a regular village. The street is narrow between
the open shop-fronts, and the road paved with baulks of timber. They
drive a large trade among the people coming in from the distant parts,
in calico stuffs, coloured sarongs and panungs, brasswork for betel
boxes, trays, etc., umbrellas, sandals (the latter soles of leather
with a strap coming up inside the great toe, and dividing and passing
off on each side, which are used all over the north); hats of straw,
felt, or strips of palm leaf; bells for oxen, tins of Swiss milk,
matches, needles and threads, wire and nails, cheap chains, a few
tools of European type, coloured yarns, white jackets and singlets,
towels, and even soap: all are imported from Bangkok. Yet, with the
present difficulties of transport through the Dong Phya Yen, the
Chinamen are doing a flourishing business.
[Illustration: SANDAL]
The Chinese houses are peculiar; a rectangular building being first
built of large unbaked mud bricks, with pillars rising like chimneys
at each end. Outside, several feet higher, and resting on these
pillars, is constructed a _yah kah_, or grass roof. Big fires are
kindled inside to dry the place; and the result is a very cool
dwelling. The grass roofing is brought very often far out, overhanging
the front, and this makes a shop front with the house behind.
These houses are usually on the roadsides, the two principal ones
running north and south, and east and west, connecting the gates, and
meeting about the centre. The latter road is about a mile long, the
former less. The central market is carried on all day in a large
roofed building near the centre of the city, and all up the road sit
the yellow-faced Chinamen smoking their long-stemmed pipes in the shop
fronts, and with the aid of their wives (generally Siamese, and good
business women) bargaining with the long-haired, dark burned men from
the plains, to whom the beauties of the shops in Khorat are a great
delight. From these main roads one may have quite an extensive ride or
walk without going outside the walls, in lovely lanes, lying deep down
between high banks of shrubs and grasses (and sometimes 4 feet deep in
water). These lanes are quite a feature of the country outside, too,
and, with the long grassy slopes referred to above, would make Khorat
the centre of delightful excursions in the cool months.
The journey from Khorat to Saraburi on the Nam Sak, whence Bangkok can
be reached in two days, occupies as a rule six or seven days only. But
when, after the main body had come up and had a day's rest, we bade
good-bye to the unceasing kindness of the Commissioner, and at the end
of the first day's march, which had begun pleasantly through lanes and
villages, found ourselves up to our necks in water, it was evident we
should take longer. We had to trend to the southward to get upon the
high ground out of the water, and with constant delays, owing to the
impassable state of the rivers, it was fourteen days before we got to
Saraburi.
Leaving the beautiful villages outside Khorat, deep in their thick
clusters of areca palms, which in places form perfect forests of tall
stems supporting the arched roof of leaves far overhead, and making a
perpetual cool shade, we had two days alternately over flat sandstone
beds and flooded lowlands, where the water was for hours at a time up
to our thighs, and at one place for half a mile up to our necks. Our
nights were wretched, as the rain was perpetual, and the waggons could
not arrive at the monasteries, where we put up, till long after
midnight; the men lay sleeping round, hungry and damp, lots of them
too tired to eat their supper when we got it ready, about 2 a.m.
These monasteries, built, as they were in days of old in our own Fen
country, upon little islands, are often the only things above the vast
surrounding lakes of water. The houses in the villages, built high on
piles, keep dry. Raised above the ground some two or three feet, are
generally long timber walks, made of solid felled trees, the top side
being slightly shaved down, on which the monks may walk out dry and
clean in the morning rounds to get their food. These walks are
attached to the wats in all the plains of the country, and when the
traveller strikes one, he knows a wat, with its welcome sala or
resthouse, is near.
The trail follows the Khorat river to nearly its source in the
limestones of the "Dong Phya Yen" forest; it then strikes across the
forest, descending the spurs of the plateau to the elbow made by the
Nam Sak, which turns away at Keng Koi in a west-south-westerly
direction to the Meinam. This trail in the forest is greatly worn by
the pack oxen, by which alone the thick forest can be penetrated, and
in the rains is a series of narrow tracks winding in and out between
the trees, consisting of frightfully slippery mud. The oxen have a way
of walking in each other's footsteps, and the result is a series of
ridges, like those on a sandbank at low water; but the ridges are
greasy mud, and the depressions deep pitfalls. Thus in the wet weather
the oxen constantly have heavy falls, and no one can get through
without finding himself often on his nose or on his back.
The forest proper begins at Chanteuk, a small village, in the
neighbourhood of which are some copper mines. These are open works,
and as no one has worked there lately, were, when we passed through,
brim full of water. On the Khorat side of this place are two fords, to
cross which huge tree-trunks lie over the water, the growth along the
bamboo being extraordinarily dense. Between them is a sala, which
fortunately was in moderate condition, as we were delayed there two
days in pouring rain, the river having risen ten feet in one night, as
I measured next morning. Our quinine was nearly at an end; one man was
quite prostrated with fever; and our eight days' store of rice was
nearly done, all our chickens gone, the horses useless with sore
backs, and the thirty-eight oxen carrying the packs suffering with
coughs and sores. To get out we built two rafts; one was carried away
on her first journey, the ropes going; and the other proved so slow
that, as the distance was some hundred yards in the then state of the
water, it would have taken us two days to get all over. But, to our
great satisfaction, the river fell.
At Chanteuk we got some rice and _platieng_, salt-fish, which the
Siamese eat with their rice, and can live on for any length of time.
Then, instead of going down the great trail, where a party of two men
and a woman we met had just left two of their number dead of fever in
the road, I took a drier, if longer route to the south. Our
resting-places were Ban Kanong Pra, Ban Tachang, Hoay Sai, and Muak
Lek Nua, whence we reached Keng Koi.
The scenery of this forest is most peculiar, and by no means inviting,
especially in the continuous heavy rain, when the traveller is
attacked by ticks and leeches, flies, and red ants seeking a dry
place. The villages are the wretchedest collections of huts, the
people mostly very poor; and one constantly wondered how any soul
could live in these tiny clearings in the midst of a vast area where,
for the most part, the sun never comes, when he might be in healthy,
open country. We could seldom get even a banana. Undulating in all
directions lies the forest, with now and then a sheet of limestone
precipice towering among the drifting rains; the paths,[13] just wide
enough for an ox, continually obstructed by lately fallen trees, round
which a _detour_ must be cut in the semi-darkness; and all the while
the dull roar of the rain upon the leaves, with the prospect of a
camp, wet through, in long six-feet grasses for the night. At Ban Mai
we emerged from the forest, and found a clean village with a lot of
cheerful, chatty Laos, who sent three men on with us to Keng Koi--the
smartest set of men we had seen since leaving the Mekong.
At Pak Prio, a morning's walk beyond, we found the embankment of the
railway to Khorat so far advanced as to have a mile of rails laid
above the place, and a locomotive standing almost finished in a shed,
to which my men as they came by fell upon their knees and offered the
customary Siamese "salaam," by raising the clasped hands to the
forehead. The oxen, which had reached a stream we crossed with ease a
few hours before above Keng Koi, found it impassable, and were delayed
two days there. My poor fellows, soaked through and through, and with
no chance of getting snug at night, had to sleep and live for two days
of pouring rain in the sala; but, being near home, were as jolly as
could be. The temperature was some 4° higher at night, and mosquitos,
which we had not seen for over five months, were most obnoxious; and
from the strong south-west winds blowing, it was evident we were once
more near the gulf.
One day's pulling and half a day's steaming, and Bangkok was in sight,
with the French _Lutin_ and H.M.S. _Swift_ lying off the Legations.
This was the first evidence we had had of there being political
troubles. From fording the swollen streams, from continual tumbles in
mud and water, and from constant rain, we found nearly everything on
the pack oxen had been ruined that could be--photographs and other
things. It is a most clumsy way of travelling, without doubt, and the
time and labour spent in loading up every morning is enormous. The
weights on the two sides must be adjusted accurately, the two men
lifting them on a bamboo, through the middle, to test the balance and
spending often ten minutes in getting one pair of panniers ready. Then
there are constant falls, and often these are not discovered until
miles have been traversed, and a careful search has to be made in
ditches, streams, and mud for hours at a time. Besides this, the pace
is wretchedly slow. This belt of the Dong Phya Yen, which can only be
passed by animals, thus equipped, is a practical barrier to
communication, leaving out of consideration the superstition with
which the forest is, with much reason owing to its fevers, regarded,
and the badness of the roads within it. The Khorat Railway becomes
thus a work of the greatest importance to the whole plateau. To
complete its usefulness, one or two passable cart-roads will do all
that is necessary for that piece of undoubtedly hopeful country.
The Nam Sak, which the railway leaves at Keng Koi, is also a valuable
river, inasmuch as, apart from the large tobacco crops towards its
source, the valley is one richer in minerals than any other piece of
country like it in Siam, and in the rainy season the question of
transport is a fairly easy one. What struck me very much on descending
the Nam Sak was the thickness of the population all along the banks,
as compared with anything we had seen in the north. The beauty of the
wats--always built on points of land round which the stream wound its
turbid way--was also striking, and quite impressive. In the manners of
the majority, and their loud talking, it was also clear that we were
no longer among the gentle Laos of Nan or the musicians of Luang
Prabang; but the comfort and luxury of the people were such as far
exceeded anything we had seen since we left the Meinam at Pechai.
The weather all the way from Nongkhai to Muak Lek Nua (end of April
and May) was south-westerly winds, moderate to fresh, falling at
night. Mornings fine, with heavy cumuli in the south-west and west,
which gradually spread, and became dark flashing thunder-clouds. Heavy
rain after 2 p.m., beginning with a heavy squall of wind shifting to
the west and north-west, and once or twice round to north-east, whence
it blew hard for an hour. Rain generally lasted most of the night.
Thermometer--average minimum reading, 70° Fahr.; maximum, 91° in the
shade.
From Muak Lek Nua we descended into the Meinam valley, and found in
the plains but slight showers, and fresh south-westerly wind lasting
long into the night. Thermometer--minimum reading while in Pak Prio,
74°.
The result of so much wading made itself rather severely felt in a few
days on most of us, and we had sores on our legs and feet for some
time afterwards, so that it was almost impossible to get shoes on.
This was no doubt partly owing to low diet, and partly to the cuts and
wounds to the bare feet which every one gets wading where he cannot
see his way, made worse by the blistering effect of the occasionally
fierce sun, to keep off which palm leaves wrapt round the foot are
excellent. With regard to the fevers, I would say, don't give quinine
every day, as then in emergency its effect is less powerful, and the
constitution is too accustomed to it; keep it until men feel a bit
down, or when in very bad places or bad weather. It will last longer,
and do more. In the high fevers of the dense forests, which prostrate
a man very suddenly, emetics are the most reliable cure.
In a country abounding in snakes, it is not a little remarkable that
our party only saw four the whole time. Again, though often in wild
elephant tracks, none of us ever either saw or heard one. Two tigers,
a few deer, and monkeys (which are not timid) were the only animals
which were seen in the forests--a very sufficient proof, where their
tracks are to be seen on every hand, and they can be heard around all
night, of the care with which they avoid meeting man. Of course the
great thickness of the vegetation, where the man in front of you is
often out of sight even in the path, in great measure also accounts
for it, and it is this which prevents Siam being such a field for the
sportsman as it would otherwise be.
There is one subject especially which it struck me often would make an
interesting inquiry for any one who understands the subject--the
comparison of the patterns and colours, both in the silk and
cotton-work of the Laos districts; such as the check patterns in the
panungs and cloaks in Nan, the former remarkable for a large use of a
bright yellow, which, to the unaccustomed eye is rather flaring, the
latter for its red shades; the horizontal and generally narrow stripes
of the Luang Prabang petticoats (in which, again, the best effect is
due to yellow); and the extremely taking panungs of Khorat, which are
thought very much of by the Siamese. They are of one colour, with a
border at the ends, blue, a delicate pink flesh colour, and a light
red being the commonest.
_Note on Gold and Silver at Luang Prabang._
All over the Laos states silver ornaments, as well as such articles as
betel-boxes, trays, etc., are very common among the chiefs, and at
Luang Prabang gold is likewise often seen used in place of silver for
such things. The question is often raised as to how and where these
metals have been obtained in such quantities in the past, that even
tribute has been paid in ornaments made of them from olden times.
Certainly the gold has always been found in alluvial sands, nor did I
ever hear of its being known in veins or veags, nor did I ever find
any traces of its so occurring. I believe its chief source must be the
series of crystalline schists, which is an extensive one, and I
incline to the idea, from the smallness of the quantities extracted
from the sands, that it is probably sparsely disseminated through
these rocks as well as through the quartz and possibly the calcareous
veins, and that it will never be found in them in sufficient
quantities to pay working. The patient streams have worked away for
ages denuding and carrying away these rocks, and separating and
depositing the gold, and all they have effected as far as the latter
goes is that they have deposited infinitesimal quantities of it only,
with larger quantities of the other minerals, such as magnetic iron
ore, iron pyrites, etc. Decomposition and disintegration of the latter
may be in places freeing more gold, and the yearly floods bring down
their small addition, but yet even the Lao worker hardly finds it
worth his while to work the sands, and the apathy displayed in the
matter everywhere is partly without doubt accounted for by the poverty
of the results obtained. And where the native worker gets such poor
results, will the European miner get better?
The gold in the Mekong is generally extremely fine and much
water-worn, and is usually found below a sharp turn in the river,
where the water runs strong. As regards the silver, it has been found
native, but in such very small quantities that it cannot have supplied
the whole country. The whole of Siam, however, is rich in galena,
often of a very argentiferous character, and it may possibly have been
found with other sulphides as well, but there can be little doubt that
most of it has been extracted from galena. In some parts of the
Northern Laos States this has been a regular industry. Small blast
furnaces of baked mud are used, and when reduced the metal is run off
in pigs and put in a reverberatory furnace with charcoal. This is
sometimes done (but clumsily enough) further south, but little
interest is manifested as a rule in these matters. Nowadays money is
often melted down for working into ornaments.
[Footnote 12: It no doubt primarily arises from the danger and
strength of the eddies.]
[Footnote 13: There are a few elephant tracks.]
APPENDIX.
At the Meeting of the Royal Geographical Society on February 24, 1894,
an account of Mr. Warington Smyth's journey by the President, Mr.
Clements R. Markham, C.B., was read by Mr. Probyn. Before the reading
of the paper, the President said--
The paper we are to hear this evening is on exploration on the Upper
Mekong, in Siam, by Mr. Herbert Warington Smyth, who is serving under
the Siamese Government. Siam is from many points of view a most
interesting country, more particularly for us at the present time, and
it is observable that until about nine years ago, when Mr. Holt
Hallett read his paper, we had scarcely in this Society heard anything
of Siam except as to the exploration of the Mekong by our gold
medallist, Lieut. Garnier. We had only had scattered notices in
previous years from Sir Robert Schomburgk and Sir Harry Parkes. But
latterly we have received most important communications from Lord
Lamington in 1891 and Mr. Curzon last year, and I think that not only
this Society, but the nation generally, owes a debt of gratitude to
Lord Lamington and Mr. Curzon for having so persistently, so
patriotically, and so ably kept a question of such importance to
England before the Government and the public. It was in 1887 that Mr.
McCarthy, after surveying Siam for several years, favoured us with a
most interesting communication. He was the first to describe to us the
geographical and the general features of the country; and I believe I
am right in saying it was through the advice and the persuasion of Mr.
McCarthy that this young and modest explorer, Mr. Warington Smyth, was
induced to send us his paper, which we shall listen to this evening.
Unfortunately, he will be unable to read it himself; he is still--I
won't say better employed, because I don't think any one can be better
employed than in reading a paper before this Society, but he is quite
as well employed in preparing in Siam for further exploration, and I
am glad to say that, as the paper is in manuscript, or the condensed
version which we are obliged to use, a friend of Mr. Warington Smyth
and an old schoolfellow, Mr. Probyn, has very kindly undertaken to
read it.
After the reading of the paper, the following discussion took place:--
Lord LAMINGTON: I think I may say that if Mr. Warington Smyth had been
here he would have considered it a great compliment to have had his
lecture listened to by so large an audience, and I may also say you
will not think your time wasted while listening to the paper. We owe a
debt of gratitude to Mr. Probyn for having undertaken to read a paper
so full of names to which he must be unaccustomed. With regard to the
paper, no description I have read has recalled to me so vividly the
scenes in that part of the world. Mr. Smyth has shown himself not only
a geologist, but a close observer of natural history and human customs
in every variety and form. He has represented to us most fully all the
scenery, and given us a vivid description of Siamese and Laos life. I
am glad that he corroborates what I myself would state, the gentleness
of the Laos tribes. I don't know who has called them barbarians, but I
cannot imagine a people less deserving of such a title. I am not quite
sure of the definition of civilization, and in their own way it may
not be Western, but in all kindness and honesty they are as worthy to
be called civilized as any that could be found in the human race. I
almost wish he had told us more about the mineralogical wealth of the
country. I am not certain how far we may gather that the sapphire
mines are of any great value, but from the mere fact of these Burmans
coming over and thinking it worth while to take long journeys to sell
their stones, and from their being of the first water, we may assume
that when these mines are worked in a more efficacious manner they
will prove to be of value. Another interesting part of his paper
refers to the navigation of the Mekong from north of Luang Prabang and
down south as far as Nong Khai. From Chieng Kong, where he first
touched it, to Chieng Kan, we may assess its value as a navigable
river, that is to say, for any boats of size to carry cargoes. His
estimate is borne out by the report of Mr. Archer, and so also his
statement on the commerce of Luang Prabang gives us a true idea of its
worth, which is practically _nil_. Of course, we know the French are
anxious to obtain possession of that place, as they consider it of
first-class importance. Both Mr. Archer and Prince Henri d'Orleans
think it, as a commercial centre, valueless for attracting any
European capital. That part of the Mekong which may be considered
navigable is from Chang Tang to Khong, further than Mr. Warington
Smyth went. The French have now carried some stern-wheel steamers
piecemeal up to these waters; the result of their enterprise only the
future can show. With regard to the fishing methods of the natives, I
may just say that these arrangements may be very well when you are
descending the river, but they are the greatest inconvenience when
ascending, as they form a formidable barrier if there is a strong
current, and when you have to face this rigid fence of bamboos, it
then becomes a matter of great difficulty to force the boat through.
Mr. Warington Smyth mentioned the difficulties made by the mud; this,
of course, in the wet season renders all travelling impossible. The
sliminess of the mud is almost inconceivable, and I can recollect,
when between Chieng Upeng and Mung Sai, I used when climbing to keep
on all fours, and probably slip down until arrested by a twist in the
path; and it was amusing to see the efforts made by boys and men to
mount the slimy slopes. This was in the dry season; in the wet season
travelling with loaded animals becomes impossible throughout the
greater part of the Indo-China peninsula. Mr. Archer came across from
Chieng Kong into the Nam Nan valley; now Mr. Warington Smyth describes
the country from Nong Khai to Khorat; and there is an account waiting
to be published by, Mr. Beckett, of the diplomatic service, of a
journey still further down the Mekong and along the Nam Mun river to
Khorat. We are thus in possession of descriptions of a country that,
owing to political exigencies, will play an important part in the
future, and all information we derive concerning it must be very
valuable to us.
I apologize for addressing you at such length, and thank you for your
kind remarks about my efforts to instruct public opinion about Siam. I
imagine I must be a lineal descendant of Cassandra, because I have
noticed that all I have said has been disregarded. I am glad to see
Mr. Curzon has torn himself away from the charms of the allotment
question. He has given much information, and has asked many searching
questions in Parliament with reference to Siam, and has been
successful in eliciting some valuable information.
Hon. George Curzon: Lord Lamington has indulged in some amiable chaff
at the expense of the House of Commons, to which we are accustomed on
the part of those noblemen who belong to the upper chamber. I may tell
him, in reply, that what concerns us much more than the question of
allotments for the parishes in England is the question of the future
political allotment of Siam. My interest in Siam is more than a purely
physical or geographical interest in the country; and all those who
belong to the country, or have a friendly concern in it, may rest
assured that neither Lord Lamington or I will abate any effort for its
fair treatment in the politics of the future. I don't know that I have
much right, perhaps none, to address you at all this evening, because,
in the first place, I have not been upon these upper parts of the
river Mekong which have been visited and so admirably described
successively by Lord Lamington and in the paper this evening. My own
acquaintance with the Mekong is limited to its lower portion, where it
flows through Cochin-China, Cambodia, and at Pnom Penh, the capital of
Cambodia, sends northwards a branch that disembogues into the lake
Tali Sap. Now, this Mekong river is one of the most remarkable rivers
in the world, whether contemplated in the lower parts, where it
spreads out in broad tranquil reaches from 200 yards to half a mile in
width; or whether you examine its middle sections, where, as we have
been told this evening, the French are finding furious and stormy
rapids; or whether you go northward beyond the exploration of Lord
Lamington and Mr. Warington Smyth, the river pursues its course
unknown and unexplored far away, amid the mountain masses of Western
China and Tibet. This river Mekong seems to me, during the last
twenty-five years, to illustrate a lesson, ever since 1865-6, when the
French expedition under Lagree, Garnier, and De la Porte went up the
river to explore it,--one of the most heroic of expeditions in its
conception and execution, and most pathetic in its result, undertaken
by pioneers. Ever since then it has had an extraordinary fascination
for Frenchmen--so much so, that they have claimed for themselves a
sole right of interest in the Mekong, no matter what reports may be
brought home by travellers, commercial agents, or explorers, as to the
unnavigability of the river. They have maintained these ideas to the
present day, and I cannot imagine a more interesting study than that
of the parts which the great rivers of Asia, the Euphrates, Oxus,
Ganges, and Mekong, have taken in history not merely by their
geographical features or commercial aspect, but by what I may call
their moral influences, exercised on the moulding of the peoples and
on the destinies of empires. We have heard a most interesting paper
from Mr. Smyth. He has given us a most faithful and vivid account of
boat life, raft life, camp life, village life, and jungle life in
Siam, and, as Lord Lamington said, has given us not only a faithful,
but a singularly attractive, picture of the various tribes who inhabit
that country. I was glad to hear what Lord Lamington said about these
Laos peoples, because there is too great a tendency in the world to
assume that, because the tribes of little-known and comparatively
unexplored districts have not all the abominable manners of
civilization, they must necessarily be described as barbarians. As he
remarked, no more amiable, docile population exists--a people
possessed of æsthetic and musical tastes, who are entitled to the
epithet, "the Greeks of the Indo-Chinese peninsula." There is another
strip south of Luang Prabang, right down between the mountains and the
Mekong, into which no Englishman has ever been; and, looking to the
fact that the French have taken possession of it, I don't suppose we
are likely to go there. Further down is a curious people called
Ladans, amongst whom an adventurer, either French or Italian,
established himself a short time ago, called himself king, and, I
believe, wanted to appear in the "Almanack de Gotha;" but, having
retired for a short time, on his return found his subjects unwilling
to receive him, and the kingdom has disappeared. The interest to us in
this room is not that of acquisition or conquest, but a friendly
sympathetic interest in the Oriental people who are playing their own
part in the world, in proportion as they come into the mesh of British
trade. I was interested to hear about Manchester goods at Luang
Prabang, seeing the advantages the French have for shipping by Hanoi
and up the Black river. You would never expect Manchester goods there,
and the fact that they are there means, not only that they ought to be
kept there, but ought to be seen all over the peninsula. I am pleased
to say that Mr. Smyth, in the latter part of his journey, travelled
over a line that is to be taken by the railway from Khorat to Bangkok,
of which I saw the embankments. It was largely the anticipation of the
results of that railway that induced the French to go on, for the flow
of trade has been for some time past from the Mekong river
south-westwards. They want to divest it towards their possessions.
Conceive how it will be emphasized if you have a railway instead of
the carts that take goods laboriously by the way Mr. Smyth described!
I am sorry that there is difficulty about this railway--that the
contractor has had a dispute with the Siamese Government; but I hope
that this will be settled, and, at all events, that Siam will make the
railway. A year ago I was in Siam, and the king told me he meant to
take the railway to Kong Khai. It will be the best thing for the
salvation of his country, and there is no Englishman present who does
not wish to see Siam strong, independent, and wealthy, and capable of
holding its own. For my own part, I shall never cease to feel the
greatest and warmest interest in that singularly attractive country,
and my own opinion is, that it is the duty of every British Government
to see that the integrity of that country is not wiped out, and that
its vitality is maintained.
Mr. F. Verney: I have the honour of being connected with Siam by being
a member of the Siamese legation. I have watched with intense interest
the advance of that country, and have been concerned in its connection
with Europe even more than with Siam itself. I can thoroughly confirm
everything that has been said by Lord Lamington on the one side and
Mr. Curzon on the other, from what I have heard, not from what I have
seen. I was in Siam for a very short time, and was treated there with
the greatest possible kindness and hospitality. To judge fairly the
civilization of that country, we should take, not our own standard of
civilization only, but a wider standard applicable to communities
differing entirely in their origin, their histories, and in their
development from our own, and it is very gratifying to hear a man in
Mr. Curzon's position in the House of Commons express his opinions in
the emphatic and eloquent language to which we have just listened. It
is true that only recently England has awakened to the extreme
importance of that distant country. It was not until the other day
that Englishmen had an idea that Siam produced anything much besides
twins, but this cynical ignorance is rapidly disappearing. You cannot
listen to travellers like Lord Lamington and Mr. Curzon (and when Mr.
Warington Smyth comes back we shall listen to him) without finding out
that there is a great deal both of material and what we may call moral
progress in that distant country. Let me say one word as regards his
Majesty the King of Siam, on whose character and personality so much
depends. For many years past the king has been known as a man of wide
interests, of a very high order of intelligence, and of an unusual
charm of manner. He comes of a family distinguished in the past both
for statesmanship and scientific culture. A member of his family was
one of the greatest astronomers in the East; another was described to
me by one of the greatest Oriental travellers, and perhaps the most
cultivated linguist in Germany, as being the master of more languages
than any other man he had met; and you may be assured that the royal
family of Siam will produce many more distinguished men. There are
members studying at Oxford, others at our public schools, growing up
surrounded by all the best English influences. Let us hope that Siam
and England will go hand-in-hand, and that other countries in Europe
will come round to see that this is not a country for invasion or
annexation, but worthy of support and sympathy, on account of its
people, its products, its achievements in the past, and its
possibilities for the future.
Mr. Louis: I am afraid I can add very little to what Mr. Warington
Smyth has said, because my explorations were in a diametrically
opposite direction. I had the pleasure of his company when exploring
some diamond and ruby mines in the south-east, and this was more
interesting to me as my knowledge of mineralogy was acquired under Mr.
Warington Smyth's father. On one point only I have to differ from Mr.
Warington Smyth--as to the Burmese way of washing rubies and
sapphires. It is not at all to my mind the crude, rough way he
mentions. Their baskets are the most beautifully finished work made of
bamboo in thin strips, and handled with all the deftness and practised
skill of an Australian or Californian gold-washer; they scarcely ever
miss a gem, so far as I could see, much bigger than a pin's head. As
regards the geology of these districts on the east of Chantabun, the
formation is simply gravel from 2 to 5 feet deep overlying the trap
rocks, and these gems have been worn out of the trap rocks by natural
agencies. Mr. Smyth describes the gems as coming from a black
crystalline rock very similar to that I have mentioned. This formation
seems to be quite different from the white limestone occurring in
Burma. I should like to mention one thing that must have struck very
few when hearing Mr. Smyth's paper; it not only gives a wonderfully
accurate description of the people, but is an accurate reflex of his
own plucky and cheery nature; very few can have any idea of the real
hardships and difficulties and dangers involved in such an expedition.
It takes an Englishman to go through such dangers and hardships, and
then write such a bright account of everything as Mr. Smyth has done.
The President: I am sure the meeting will agree with me that we have
never in this hall heard so graphic and so picturesque an account of
this little-known region as is contained in Mr. Warington Smyth's
paper. Mr. Smyth is evidently a keen observer of nature, and has the
gift of sympathy--of being able to place himself in the position of
the people with whom he travels and whom he comes across, as well as a
kindly feeling for the animals serving with him. These are very high
qualities. His narrative is so lively and cheery, that we can hardly
realize the amount of hardship and danger the journey entailed. These
are all admirable qualifications, which are due almost entirely, I
have no doubt, to his own individuality; but perhaps we may put
something down to his education. Mr. Warington Smyth was a Westminster
boy, like his father before him, who was a valued member of our
Council. I cannot help taking this opportunity of saying that there
are very few places of learning in this country that have done in
times past so much for geography as that glorious old school which
nestles round the cloisters of Westminster Abbey. Richard Hakluyt, the
father of English Geography, was a Westminster boy; Edmund Gunter, the
first introducers of the use of Napier's logarithms; Neville
Maskelyne, to whom we owe the Nautical Almanac; Dr. Vincent, one of
our greatest comparative geographers, were all Westminster boys; and
one of the seven founders of this Society, and two of your Presidents,
were also Westminster boys. Now we find a Westminster boy training
himself, hereafter to be a great explorer, and perhaps discoverer. Let
us wish him all success in his career, and I am sure the meeting will
desire me to convey to him a hearty and unanimous vote of thanks.
[Illustration: Map--THE CENTRAL PART OF THE KINGDOM OF SIAM. Showing
the route of MR. H. Warington Smyth.]