THE SANDA VALLEY.
Departure from Momien--Robbers surprised--At Nantin--Our ponies
stolen--We slide to Muangla--A pleasant meeting--The Tapeng
ferrymen--A valley landscape--Negotiations at Sanda--The Leesaws--A
Shan cottage--Buddhist khyoungs--For fear of the nats--The
limestone hill--Hot springs of Sanda--The footprint of Buddha--A
priestly thief--The excommunication--The chief’s farewell--Floods
and landslips--Manwyne priests--A Shan dinner party--The
nunnery--Departure from Manwyne--The Slough of Despond.
At the last our departure from Momien seemed doubtful, owing to the
difficulty of finding porters, and men were forcibly impressed into the
service. Any demur as to a particular box or complaint of the weight of
their loads was silenced by a torrent of abuse from the Panthays, who,
to these persuasives, sometimes added severe blows. About 8 A.M. on
July 13th we started, waving our adieus to the governor, who had come
out on the town wall to bid us farewell. The guard gave him a feeble
cheer in Hindustani, which they again repeated as we marched out of the
bazaar gate and set our faces westwards. Two Panthay officers, who had
been our constant visitors, accompanied us for nearly a mile, and at
parting they burst into tears. After we had gone a long way, and turned
back to take a last look at Momien, we saw the two figures, standing on
the same spot, gazing wistfully after us.
In a short time it began to rain in torrents, and the roads became very
slippery, especially for men carrying heavy loads, so that we soon went
ahead of the porters. At the descent into the Nantin valley, the road
was as if it had been well oiled. Ponies and pedestrians slid down the
steep hill-path in wild confusion, many of the party coming to serious
grief. A little Chinese girl, who had been presented to the jemadar
and his wife, as a return for his exertions in the mosque services,
accompanied us, tied in a small bamboo chair on a pony. As the beast
was quite at liberty to choose his own course, the terror and screams
of the small neophyte were most piteous. At the scene of the attack
made on the upward journey--marked still by some of our empty boxes--we
passed the bodies of two men who had been recently killed and cast on
the roadside. Halting at the hot spring to wait for the porters, we
learned that these were the corpses of Chinese robbers, who had been
caught, by the Panthay vanguard, crouching in the jungle with long
spears, ready to stick the first mule passing, and had been summarily
disposed of by them. Near Nantin all were requested to wait and allow
the rear-guard to close up, as we were about to pass a favourite
lurking-place for robbers.
We formed a long line, with Panthay soldiers before and behind,
and, with gongs beating ahead, marched unscathed into Nantin, which
was reached by six o’clock. Our former residence, the khyoung, was
found to be already tenanted by a Panthay guard and a Kakhyen tsawbwa
groaning with fever. A dose of sulphate of magnesia, followed up
with quinine, secured to him sleep and to ourselves quiet, as far as
he was concerned; but we were kept on the look-out, as the baggage
arrived in detachments, much of it, including bedding, not turning up
till the next day, and some articles, such as a portable bedstead,
and a magazine box, not appearing at all. The governor came to greet
us in the evening, attended by a guard, one of whom carried a huge
gauze lantern swung from a tripod. He was full of regrets that he had
not been apprised of our coming, so as to have prepared comfortable
quarters, and met us on the way. The Hotha tsawbwa did not appear,
according to his promise, and was reported to be still in his own
valley, and his absence prevented us from adopting the embassy route
across Shuemuelong into Hotha valley. As it afterwards appeared that
the irrepressible Li-sieh-tai and his troops had taken up their
quarters in a strong post on the Shuemuelong mountain, it was just as
well that this route was not attempted. We found ourselves accordingly
obliged to retrace the former road to Muangla, Sanda, and Manwyne.
The pleasing news reached us that a party of one hundred Burmese had
arrived in Muangla, sent from Bhamô in charge of a remittance of
five thousand rupees, and to escort us back to that place; so that,
notwithstanding all the discomforts of our quarters, all turned in well
pleased and prepared to make an early start for Muangla.
Our morning slumbers were rudely broken by one of the police, who
reported concisely, “Of the three ponies, not one is left.” During the
night thieves had made a hole in the wall of the courtyard just large
enough to admit the passage of a pony, and through this the animals
had been carried off unperceived by the sentries posted within twenty
yards. Examination showed that the animals had been supplied with
corn, and a trail of grain led to another opening in the town wall. On
the previous visit we had been cautioned to watch carefully against
any attempt to steal the ponies; but the warning had unfortunately
been forgotten. A robbery had been attempted in the same way when the
tah-sa-kon was residing in the khyoung. The thieves purloined a gun
and sword, but an alarm was raised, and the latter was dropped in
their flight. We borrowed ponies to carry us to Muangla, and started
at half past ten. As before, considerable difficulty was caused by
the absence of porters, nearly all the coolies from Momien having run
away. Mules had to be found to supply their place, and the proverbial
character of these beasts was fully verified by those of Nantin, which
for an hour stubbornly refused to be loaded. During this interlude the
Panthays were doing their best to impress men for the lighter loads.
The recusants were dragged up by soldiers with drawn swords, and each,
when loaded, was followed by a spearman, ready to egg him on with his
spear if he attempted to lag behind. As we passed through Muangtee, the
townspeople had all turned out, and our old friend, the tsawbwa-gadaw,
and her retainers, male and female, stood outside her haw, and waved
salutes and adieus. Outside the town a strong Shan guard of honour was
drawn up, and escorted us to the chain bridge across the Tahô, three
miles from the town.
During the rains the river is unfordable, and the road follows the
left bank along the embankments of the paddy fields as far as the
bridge. From the right bank the ascent to the lofty Mawphoo glen
proved most arduous, the road being so slippery that men and beasts
were continually falling, and many of the pedestrians were severely
bruised. It rained incessantly, and it was a great relief to all when
Mawphoo was reached, and an hour’s rest was enjoyed previous to the
descent into the head of the Muangla valley. The road first led down
a declivity, where the only mode of progress for the ponies was by
sliding; and then followed a series of zigzags, some of them over
frightful precipices, where a slip of the pony’s foot would be certain
destruction. At this season the Tahô issues as a tremendous torrent
from the deep gorge in the Mawphoo hills, and the distant Tapeng
appeared almost as large as the Irawady in dry weather. We reached
Muangla at dusk, and were astonished, on entering the town, to meet
an Englishman, accompanied by some Shans. He rushed up to our leader,
and introduced himself as Mr. Gordon, a civil engineer from Prome, who
had been sent by the Chief Commissioner with additional funds, and
to fill the post of engineer to the expedition. He had received his
instructions by telegraph on May 9th, to follow the party as quickly as
possible, and had obeyed them with laudable energy. He had travelled
from Bhamô with a guard of fifty Burmans, and found no difficulty _en
route_. At Manwyne he had met with the Hotha tsawbwa, who wished him
to remain for a day or two; but pushing on, and passing Sanda without
halting, he had reached Muangla the day of our arrival. The guard
of one hundred Burmese which had been despatched in charge of the
first supply of rupees had arrived there ten days previously; but the
tsare-daw-gyee in charge had been afraid to advance further.
From this place our Panthay guards were to return, and the Burmese
officer expected that his escort would take their place. He seemed
indeed most eager to be of service, and was much chagrined when he
learned our leader’s intention of exploring the route on the southern
banks of the Tapeng. It was a most pleasant surprise to meet Mr.
Gordon, whose goodwill and energy were inexhaustible. The supply of
funds also came just in time to enable us to make complete collections
of Shan products, and it also marvellously smoothed the difficulties of
the return journey. So we set out from Muangla in excellent spirits,
notwithstanding the incessant rain. Messages had come, from parties
unknown, offering to restore the stolen ponies for three hundred and
twenty rupees, but as the local authorities did not seem inclined to
move in the matter, the thieves were left in possession of their booty.
Our Mahommedan escort bade us farewell with evident reluctance, and one
officer expressed a strong desire to accompany us to Rangoon, saying
that if he was once there, he would never return to Yunnan.
On July 20th we started for Sanda, the usual difficulty as to porters
having compelled me to leave behind the collecting boxes for specimens,
with two of my collectors in charge, until carriage could be procured.
We crossed the Tapeng above its junction with the Tahô in ferry-boats,
the boatmen at first refusing to convey us unless paid five thousand
cash beforehand. This attempt at extortion was resisted, and the
dispute was ended by our taking forcible possession of the boats, when
the boatmen at once gave in, and worked with perfect goodwill and
activity till all the party were safely over. We then set out in a body
for Sanda, the road at first leading along the top of some old river
terraces deeply channelled by mountain streams, which were crossed by
two narrow planks laid side by side. Our ponies, however, crossed them
with ease, except the one which Gordon had brought from the plains, and
which was unused to such acrobatic exploits; so it grew nervous on
a bridge over which it was being led, and disappeared head-over-heels
in the deep gully beneath. Wonderful to relate, the animal broke no
limbs, and shortly reappeared a little further down, trembling, but
unhurt, on the river terrace below. Two miles beyond the place where
the Tapeng had been forded on the upward journey we descended towards
the level centre of the valley, at this season under water, the road
being carried along a substantial embankment built to keep back the
floods. The whole extent of the valley was clothed in exquisitely fresh
verdure, in beautiful contrast to the dark mountains which towered like
a protecting wall on either side, while alternate cloud and sunshine
fully displayed the beauty of the landscape. Now deep shadows of giant
clouds flitted down the mountains and over the sunny plains, while
occasional fleecy mists wrapt the highest peaks, and again black storms
obscured the hills as with a curtain,
“Lashed at the base with slanting storm,”
the rest of the valley basking in the sunlight. Near Sanda a stream
had to be crossed so swollen that the ponies could scarcely stem the
current, which was over the saddles. By 6 P.M. we were safely housed in
our old quarters at Sanda, and the tsawbwa’s headman speedily arrived
with a supply of fowls, rice, and firewood sufficient for all our wants.
[Illustration: VALLEY OF SANDA, LOOKING WESTWARD FROM THE HILL BEHIND
THE TOWN.]
On awaking in the morning, we made the unpleasant discovery that two
packages had been stolen from our bedsides. One was only a fishing-rod
and bamboo pipe and stems, but the other contained the solid silver
pipe-stem given by the tsawbwa to Sladen, and some other presents.
The theft was duly reported to the tsawbwa, who at once offered two
hundred rupees’ reward for the recovery of the stolen articles. During
the day, many people crowded the khyoung, having clothes and ornaments
to sell. The priests were much scandalised to see women’s clothes sold
and exhibited in the sacred precincts, and at last procured an order
from the tsawbwa, forbidding the women to come for the purpose of such
traffic.
We remained at Sanda till July 8th, being detained partly by the rain,
and partly by negotiations with the people of the Muangla district,
lying on the other side of the Tapeng, relative to our homeward route.
The chief persons, a village headman named Kingain, and the poogain
of Manhleo, a place opposite to Manwyne, through whose jurisdiction
the route lay, had both been hostile to us on the upward journey. The
Hotha tsawbwa himself proved to have had some dispute with the Sanda
people, which prevented his coming to meet us, while the Sanda headmen
were averse to our crossing over to Hotha, for fear any future trade
should be diverted from their town. In the course of the negotiations,
two Shan headmen of villages informed Sladen that they could conduct us
safely by a good and easy hill road to the Molay river, which could
be reached in two days, at a point whence it was navigable during the
floods, for large salt boats, down to the Irawady.
The skilful patience of our leader was at last rewarded by converting
Kingain and the Manhleo poogain into firm friends, and it was settled
that we should proceed to Manwyne, and cross the river at that place,
whence they would secure our safety. The son of the poogain arrived to
act as our conductor, and a letter was received from the Hotha tsawbwa,
promising to meet us at Manwyne.
During our stay we had unrestricted opportunities of viewing Shan
manners. Every fifth day the regular market was held, and the broad
street was crowded by the country folk. Stalls lined both sides of the
roadway, which seemed paved with umbrella-like straw hats. Besides
Kakhyens from the hills, Leesaws were numerous, bringing oil, bamboos,
and firewood for sale. Both men and women shave a circle round the
head, leaving only a large patch on the upper and back parts, from
which the hair is gathered into a short pigtail. Both sexes dress so
much alike that the boys and girls were almost indistinguishable from
each other. Some of them were induced to pay us a visit, and give words
and phrases of their language, which seemed to be quite distinct from
the Kakhyen tongue, and somewhat akin to the Burmese.
Seeing our interest in these people, a respectable old Shan, who had
already done some trade with us, invited us to his house, where he
professed to have some Leesaw clothing to dispose of. It turned out
that he proposed to pass off his own old clothes on the gullible
strangers; so our visit became one of politeness only. We were duly
seated, and his daughters served us with sliced mangoes and plums,
which were eaten with salt. Our host’s two wives were present, and
other matrons flocked in from the neighbouring cottages, their hands
blue with indigo. We asked if it was usual for Shans to have more than
one wife, and were told that it was not, but that every man pleased
himself. We also learned that the usual age for marriage is between
eighteen and twenty, and the consent of the parents alone is required
to make the contract binding, as there is no religious ceremony, and
the priests have no voice whatever in the matter.
The house, like all the Shan cottages, was enclosed in a courtyard, and
consisted of three rooms--a central living-room, with a sleeping-room
on either side. Against the wall of the “keeping-room,” facing the
door, stood the family altar, a small table having on it an incense
vase and an ancestral tablet. A broad verandah ran along the front of
the cottage, at one end of which stood a large indigo vat, hollowed
out of a solid block. From this house we visited the Shan and Chinese
khyoungs. Both were plain bamboo structures, built on the sites of
the former buildings, described as having been rich and splendid
structures, destroyed by the Panthays some years previously. The Shan
temple contained only one figure of Gaudama, and as the phoongyees were
seated at their rice, round a small bamboo table, we went on to that of
the Chinese, next door. Here there was one principal Buddha, clothed in
a yellow robe, and crowned with a nimbus resembling ostrich plumes. On
the altar were a few small Buddhas freshly gilded, and a number of old
pictures. On a small table was a wooden fish, such as was of frequent
occurrence in the Momien khyoungs. Tradition says that in one of his
former existences Gaudama was shipwrecked, but brought to land by a
large fish, which he afterwards fed during its life. A strange mixture
of Arion and Jonah pervades this legend; but the fish is probably a
mystic legacy from the more ancient religions to which Kwan-yin and
other deities belong. The chief phoongyee was very courteous, and had
seats brought covered with red rugs, while his waiting-man served
the guests with tea and fruit. He exhibited a number of pictures
representing the judgment and punishment of sinners. One figure,
evidently the judge, was seated at a table, with a book before him,
and pens and ink-horn at his side, while two figures stood on either
hand--one a hideous-looking monster, the other of more human and gentle
aspect. The latter was the good, the former the bad recording angel.
In front of the judge, the pious and wicked were depicted, in fleshly
forms, departing to their several destinations. Of the latter, some
were being dragged away by devils; while others in the foreground were
being subjected to torments appropriate to their failings in life. The
possessor of a false tongue was having it torn out by the roots, while
the slayer of animals was being hacked in two, with his head downwards
and his legs wide apart.
There was a grotesque humour about these horrible pictures, which made
even the priest smile, as he exhibited and described them; but he waxed
very grave as he told of the former splendour of the ruined religious
edifices of Sanda.
There was little to be done in the way of collecting zoological
specimens, and nothing in the way of sport. A thick grove of fir-trees,
marking the burial-place of the tsawbwa’s family, was the only covert,
but firing there was looked upon as certain to bring disease and death
upon the chief and his household. After one attempt, a formal request
was made that we would not shoot on the hills behind the town. A nat
is said to dwell in a cutting, which marks the entrenchments made by
the Chinese army in 1767, and the Shans believe that if a gun were
fired, the insulted demon would come down as a tiger and carry off
children. The chief himself came one day complaining of cough and
headache, and asking for medicine to dislodge the nat who had seized
him, but sulphate of magnesia proved too much for the demon. A Burman
assistant surveyor, who had been sent to make a survey of the river,
was prevented by the villagers, who pleaded a dread of the nats’
anger, and the tsawbwa, when appealed to, not only supported this view,
but privately asked the interpreter if we had not a secret object in
examining the country, and did not mean to return next year with a
strong force to take possession. We were perfectly free to stroll about
the environs, and one of the chief men undertook to guide us to visit
the hill whence the lime sold in the market was procured. The road lay
along the paddy fields, and was either knee-deep in mud or up to the
saddle-girths in water. We crossed the Nam-Sanda, a deep strong stream
flowing from the north through a short narrow glen, on the other side
of which the limestone hill rose in a gentle declivity. As we rode
through the fields of cotton, now in flower, and kept so clean that
not a weed was visible, Shan girls, dressed in dark blue, with short
trousers and petticoats with little aprons over them, looked up from
their field-work with mute astonishment depicted on their round chubby
faces. About four hundred feet up the grassy hill, on which not a tree
was to be seen, the bluish-grey masses of hard crystalline limestone
occur, lying in irregular heaps overgrown with long grass, as they have
fallen down from the rocky heights above. Some superstitious ideas are
attached to the occurrence of the limestone in this place, and it was
shown to us as a supernatural curiosity. The masses are dug out of the
ground, and carried to the villages, where they are calcined, grass
being used as fuel in preference to wood. An old kiln was shown us,
which had been formerly erected by some Chinese lime-burners, who had
come from Tali-fu. On our return, the tsawbwa was anxious to know if
the hill contained silver, the Shans having the impression that our
field-glasses enable us to see into the very heart of the mountains
and detect the precious metals therein concealed. In the bed of a
small stream running down the little valley, the hot springs occur,
consisting of two separate groups, separated by about a quarter of
a mile. In the most easterly, we found only one spring, in a basin
about six inches deep and a yard in diameter; the water bubbles up
through a gravelly bottom, over which a fine black micaceous mud has
been deposited. We found the temperature to be 204°, two degrees below
the boiling-point of Sanda, viz. 206°; but in the cold weather, when
undisturbed by floods, the temperature is higher. As a proof of this,
we saw the feathers of fowls and hair of kids, which had been cooked
in the spring, lying all about the banks of the rivulet. The natives
deepen the basin by piling stones round its margin, and use the spring
as a medicinal bath, and sometimes drink the waters. The other group
had five openings, through which the water bubbled up in the bed of
the stream, which had been diverted to expose them. All the basins
but one had been obliterated by the floods, and the temperature of
the water much reduced; but by inserting the bulb into the holes, the
temperature was found to be the same as that of the first spring. The
atmosphere round the springs was sensibly warm, and the ground so hot
in some places that our barefooted companions could not stand on it.
A peculiar heavy smell was perceptible, which was also perceived,
after boiling, in the water brought away by us. This is probably due
to the presence of some empyreumatic matter.[38] Our guide informed
us with a serious face that hell was in the immediate vicinity, and
that when Gaudama walked over this spot, the flames burst forth, and
endeavoured to devour him, but the springs issued forth and quenched
them, becoming heated in the contest. He also told us that a footprint
of Gaudama was visible close at hand, in a romantic glen, down which
flowed a mountain torrent called the Chalktaw. The stream was crossed
by a double-spanned bamboo bridge, supported in the middle of the
stream by a large boulder, and hung at either end to two bamboos
driven into the ground, so that the bridge is partly arched and partly
suspended. Many Kakhyen and Leesaw men and women were coming down the
hill on their way to Sanda market, bringing great loads of vegetables,
firewood, and planks of wood three feet long, fifteen inches broad,
and one inch and a half thick. A basket of vegetables and a plank so
heavy that one of us could scarcely lift it formed a mountain-girl’s
load down the steep hillside. About a quarter of a mile up the wild
glen, strewn with enormous waterworn granite boulders, we were shown
the giant footprint in a spot surrounded by some fine old banyan trees.
The print was on the end of a boulder looking up the glen, and it was
evident that the hollow representing the heel had been formed by the
friction of a superincumbent boulder. In time the river changed its
course, and the boulder was exposed to the view of some devout and
imaginative Buddhist. He, struck with the resemblance of the cavity to
a huge heel-mark, carved the outline of a human foot, and proclaimed
the wondrous discovery. Its great antiquity is shown by the existence
of two tablets on the other face of the rock; the carved outlines are
still traceable, but the inscriptions are so worn that it is impossible
to decipher the form of the characters. On our way back we passed a
Leesaw girl with a great display of beads, and succeeded in coaxing her
to part with four strings, and six hoops from her neck, for a rupee. A
little further on we met some more of her tribe resting under a tree,
who rose and offered us rice-spirit out of their bamboo flasks; in
exchange we gave them some watered whisky, which they seemed highly to
relish. These Leesaw women wore a peculiar turban with a pendant end,
of coarse white cloth patched with blue squares, and trimmed with
cowries. Their close-fitting leggings were made of squares of blue and
white cloth, and their ornaments consisted of large brass ear-rings,
necklaces of large blue beads and seeds, and a profusion of ratan,
bamboo, and straw hoops round the loins and neck. These resemble the
dress of the Moso women described by Cooper, and similar dresses and
ornaments are shown in Mons. Garnier’s illustrations of the Leisus in
North Yunnan.
At three o’clock in the morning of August 29th, we were all startled
from sleep by a loud outcry and a pistol shot. It turned out that a
thief had opened the door and stolen one of the handsome silver Panthay
spears, but the jingle of the ornaments had awoke Sladen, who fired
a shot in the dark after the retreating robber, and raised an alarm,
in vain. Suspicion at once fell on a phoongyee who slept in a room
close to the door; the sentinel on duty had heard the priest stirring
just before, and while he walked a few yards to consult a watch hung
up on a post, the robbery was effected. The tsawbwa and his headmen
showed great concern, and all agreed in suspecting the priest, whose
character, it appeared, was already bad. They taxed him with the theft,
and told him that it was a most disgraceful act, to steal a gift made
by one official to another; they also threatened, if the spear was not
restored, to degrade him from the priesthood, theft, even to the value
of six annas, being one of the crimes which, at his ordination, the
rahan is specially warned against, as depriving him _ipso facto_ of his
sacred character.
The tsawbwa was extremely incensed, and requested us to delay our
journey to enable him, if possible, to discover and restore the spear,
as well as punish the criminal. Early the next morning an old woman
came crying to the khyoung, and, as she entered, threw down her pipe,
and rushed up to Sladen with her hands clasped, and the tears streaming
down her wrinkled cheeks. The interpreter explained that she was the
mother of the suspected priest, and had come to intercede for him.
Another of her sons presently joined her, but they were advised to go
to the tsawbwa, in whose hands the matter rested. While she was being
shown the door through which the thief had entered, the phoongyee
himself came in, and the old woman, with a violent outburst of abuse,
struck him several blows with her clenched fist, and fairly beat him
out of the khyoung.
The ceremony of excommunication took place in due course, and was
brief enough, lasting only five minutes. He was brought in by all the
headmen, and attended by his mother and brother, the latter carrying
the clothes of an ordinary Shan, which the culprit, when degraded,
was to assume. All sat down, and the poor old woman made an affecting
appeal to her son to confess if he were guilty; but he preserved a
dogged silence, and commenced to take off his turban in front of the
altar. She then retired, departing with her hands clasped above her
head, and ejaculating prayers. The priest, having removed his turban,
took a water lily from an offering of flowers in front of the image
of Gaudama, and, placing it on a tripod, again deposited it before
the image. The chief priest now appeared on the daïs, and the culprit
knelt behind his lily muttering a few sentences, occasionally rising
from his knees, and bending in worship before the figure, and gradually
retreated after each prostration, until he was beyond the verge of the
daïs peculiar to the priests. He then knelt before the chief phoongyee,
and repeated some formula after him, after which he retired to his
room, and soon emerged dressed as a layman. He was then taken away
by the headmen, and some hours after was brought back led by a chain
secured to an iron collar round his neck. In the evening he was again
led by the chain, down to the khyoung, escorted by the headmen, who
stated that they had failed to find any clue to the missing spear, or
to establish the guilt of the prisoner. He was, however, during the
ensuing conference as to our departure, kept chained to a pillar and
guarded by two men. After another day of delay and barter with the
people, who crowded the khyoung, the only noticeable purchase being
some capital tobacco at the price of a rupee for three pounds and a
half, we took our departure on August 4th. The old tsawbwa and his
grandchild came with a parting present of cloth, and a request that
we would not mount until we had passed his house; and a silver watch
presented by Sladen to his adopted son gave immense pleasure to both
the chief and his heir. As we approached the haw, three trumpeters
blew a lusty blast, and the three saluting guns were fired as we
ascended the steps leading to the gateway, where the chief and his
grandson awaited us. After a hearty handshaking, and formal adieus, we
mounted under a second salute, and rode out of the town preceded by the
trumpeters in full bray.
The road at this season was carried along the embankments of the
paddy fields nearer to the base of the hills. The courses of the many
mountain streams showed the traces of the devastation caused by the
unprecedented floods of the past week; whole rice fields had been swept
away, and in others the crop had been hopelessly buried in silt. Roots
and stems of large trees everywhere blocked the channels, and the sides
of the mountains showed red patches, like wounds, where landslips had
occurred. These had been most destructive; nine villages were said to
have been overwhelmed in the Sanda valley, one, a village of forty
houses, being completely destroyed with all its inhabitants, save nine
who were absent. The nineteen miles to Manwyne were accomplished by 5
P.M., and we took up our quarters in the same khyoung as on the former
visit; some trouble and a little gentle violence being requisite to
exclude the pertinacious and curious Chinese, who went so far as to
hustle a sentry. These Manwyne people (not including the Shans), though
not so hostile as on our first visit, were evidently ill-disposed, and
can be only classed as “rowdies.” At sundown a bell was rung and a
huge candle lit in front of the altar, while the priests, kneeling on
the upper daïs, supported by choristers on the lower one, chanted their
vespers.
Bell-ringing and matins woke us up early in the morning, and, as
before, the devout women trooped in with their offerings of rice and
flowers. The phoongyees and some others were very much interested
in hearing about railways, telegraphs, and other wonders of Western
civilisation. One of the Sanda headmen remarked that they were much
privileged to hear of such things, and that we must all have met before
in a previous existence, and would doubtless meet again. They were awed
by viewing the moon through a good telescope; and a prediction of the
coming eclipse of the sun evidently impressed them with a deep sense
of our astrological powers, the chief phoongyee, with bated breath,
inquiring whether it presaged war or famine.
Our first visitor was the “Death’s Head” pawmine of Ponsee, who
came with the idea that we should entrust ourselves to his friendly
guidance, and was chagrined at the information that we should return by
Hotha. The Hotha tsawbwa had been delayed by the difficulty of crossing
the mud left by the floods, and, when he at length appeared, was at
first inclined to magnify the difficulties, physical and otherwise,
of reaching his valley. When he found us resolute, he made light of
the difficulties, and arranged that the Manhleo poogain should take
charge of the baggage, while he himself preceded us to prepare for
our reception. In the meantime we were entertained at a dinner by the
tsawbwa-gadaw, the honours being done by the Hotha chief. We were
welcomed by the two Buddhist nuns, one a daughter of our hostess,
and the other a sister of Hotha, attended by a crowd of maids and
retainers, and were at once requested to take our seats at the table.
Tea was then served, followed by the dinner, consisting of well-cooked
fowls, roast and boiled, pork, &c., with small plates of onions, peas,
and sliced mangoes; then came rice and sauce, followed by another
service of tea. All the dishes were served on Chinese porcelain, and
the samshu was poured from a Birmingham teapot into tiny cups of jade.
We were waited on by men; but just as the dinner was placed on the
table, the hostess came in for a few minutes, and made a speech of
welcome, and apologies for having nothing better to offer; and when
it was over, she rejoined the party. The two rahanees and their maids
favoured us with their company all the time. Being struck with the
red-dyed nails of the ladies, I asked one rosy-cheeked damsel to show
me the dye. She volunteered to give a practical illustration, and at
once brought from an inner room a pulpy mass of the petals and leaves
of a red balsam beaten up with cutch. Having first begged for a small
ring as a memento of our visit, she proceeded to envelop the tip of my
little finger in a portion of the pulp, and covered it with a green
leaf neatly tied on with thread.
After dinner the Hotha chief entertained us with a performance on the
Shan guitar or banjo, for the instrument had only three strings, and
the sounding-board was made of a stretched snake skin. The chief was
evidently regarded, and justly, as a skilled performer, and under his
fingers the instrument discoursed sweet, pleasant tinkling, while the
airs, though simple, were melodious. After our return to the khyoung,
the two nuns and their maids arrived with some presents from the
tsawbwa-gadaw, and remained for two hours, asking intelligent questions
about our country and religion, and on leaving made us promise to
visit them at their own khyoung. The next afternoon a messenger came
to remind us of our promise, and two of the party went to the nunnery.
It consisted of two bamboo houses, side by side, enclosed by a fence.
One, used as a residence, was an ordinary Shan house of three rooms;
the other, used as a chapel, was a pavilion, twenty-four feet square,
raised on piles four feet above the ground, and closed in with mats on
all sides save that fronting the dwelling-house. The only decorations
were a few small images of Gaudama, and strips of white paper cut into
ornamental figures and suspended like banners from the roofs. The Hotha
nun was engaged in weaving, which was a breach of the Buddhist canons,
forbidding the religious to employ themselves in any useful labour.
We were invited into the dwelling-house, and served with mangoes and
women’s tobacco, and bidden to light our pipes. A long and interesting
conversation ensued, mainly on religious subjects. The nuns, especially
the young lady of Manwyne, evinced great interest in the subject of
Christianity, concluding by begging us to consider her as a sister.
Then we all adjourned to afternoon tea at the haw of her mother. The
old lady expressed a great desire to possess a portrait of our gracious
Queen, which we promised to send her from Rangoon. In the meantime, we
offered a temporary substitute in the shape of four brand new rupees,
with which she was greatly pleased.
August 9th found us ready for an early start from Manwyne, but the want
of porters delayed us till 8.30, when we set out for the Tapeng. A
farewell dish of rice and spirit, “to strengthen us for the journey,”
arrived from the tsawbwa-gadaw, while the chief phoongyee presented
some cloth to each of us, heartily expressing his good wishes for our
welfare. The townspeople waved their adieus, some calling out _Kara!
kara!_ and others the Shan equivalent for _Au revoir!_ It was noon
before the ponies were safely across the river, now six hundred yards
in breadth, on the other side of which a mud flat extended for two
miles. The smooth surface had been caked hard by the sun, but with
many a fissure, through which the legs of the ponies slipped into the
tenacious quagmire beneath. At last a veritable Slough of Despond
was reached, and the party was fairly bogged; the ponies floundered
and stumbled so much that it became necessary to dismount. The next
half-hour will not be easily forgotten, when, the reins in one hand
and my dog held fast in the other, I plunged and struggled through the
slimy ooze, which seemed to grasp the legs firmly at each step. At
one place the pony made a sudden stumble, and disappeared in the mud,
whilst the strain sent me rolling forwards until dragged to my feet
by two unincumbered natives. The stoutest of our party was literally
hauled through by men stimulated by rupees, while his pony had to
be dug out of the mud by some Shans. A blunder of our guide had led
us into this tract of mud, which had been recently deposited by the
overflow of the river; and the amount of alluvium brought down can be
imagined from the fact that the tract covered about six square miles,
with an average depth of four feet. Following the embankments of the
paddy fields for about two miles, we halted for breakfast on a grassy
slope at the foot of the hills, under the shade of wide-spreading
banyan and mangoe trees, amidst eager crowds of villagers staring at
the strangers.