VISIT THE SIAMESE COMMISSIONER—DESCRIPTION AND DRESS OF
SIAMESE—DECEITFUL OFFICIALS—PRINCE PRISDANG’S LETTER—PIE-CRUST
PROMISES—A MOUNTEBANK—CALL ON THE PRINCESS—TREATY OF 1874—SIAM‘S
RELATION TO SHAN STATES—FORMER OBSTACLES TO TRADE REMOVED—VISIT FROM
CHOW OO-BOON—ASSASSINATING A LOVER—SHAN QUEEN IN ENGLISH DRESS—FAST
AND EASY-GOING ELEPHANTS PRIZED—KIAN YUEN, AN OLD CAPITAL—A CHINESE
PAGODA—CITY OF THE FLOWER-GARDEN—MUANG LA MAING, THE SITE OF THE
FIRST ZIMMÉ SHAN CITY—ASCENT OF LOI SOO TAYP—THE PAGODA OF THE
EMERALD RICE-BOWL—PAGODA SLAVES—DR M‘GILVARY JOINS MY PARTY—VISITING
BURMESE FORESTERS—RELIGIOUS BUILDINGS ERECTED BY THE BURMESE.
In the afternoon Dr M‘Gilvary went with me to call on the Siamese
commissioner, who resides in a large, two-storeyed, whitewashed brick
house, near the west bank of the river. We were shown into an airy upper
room, which serves as an audience-chamber, and is furnished with a large
round table surrounded by a number of chairs. On our entry we were
welcomed by Chow Don, the junior Siamese assistant-commissioner, a
bright, gentlemanly-looking young man about twenty-four years of age. A
few minutes later the Siamese commissioner, an iron-grey-haired,
well-built man above the average height of Siamese, and very plausible
and courteous in behaviour, came in, and after shaking hands, offered us
cigars and tea.
Amongst the Siamese the dress of the two sexes is exactly alike, but the
women are shorter and more brazen-faced than the men, and wear a
love-lock above each ear. Both have their hair cut short at the back and
sides of the head, and wear it either swept back from the forehead or
parted in the middle. It is very thick, coarse, and intensely black.
Their dress consists of a _panung_ or waist-cloth, and a jacket. The
_panung_ is a plaid-shaped cloth about 7 feet long and 2½ feet broad,
and made of cotton or of silk. It is passed round the body, held
together tight in front, where a twist in the top is made, and tucked
in. The two trailing ends are then picked up, passed under the legs, and
tucked in at the small of the back. The upper classes wear stockings,
often of gay colours, and elastic-sided boots or shoes, and girdle
themselves with a cricketing belt, or with one fastened by a buckle set
with precious stones.
The average height of the Siamese men is 5 feet 3 inches, or 3 or 4
inches less than that of the Zimmé Shans. The women seldom exceed 4 feet
9 inches in height. They seemed to me to be a cross between the Khas and
the Shans, made more repulsive by a dash of the Malay and Chinese. They
have broad, flat, lozenge-shaped faces; high cheek-bones; small
bridgeless noses; low foreheads; small, black, pig-eyes; wide mouths;
thick, non-protruding lips; a yellowish-brown complexion; and,
generally, a sullen expression.
I had been warned before leaving Burmah that Siamese officials are
deceitful above all things, and that I must not rely upon a single atom
of information I got from them. From personal intercourse, I found that
the gentleman who warned me was strictly correct in his judgment. In
answer to your questions, they tell you the most plausible lie that
trips to their tongue, and if you chance to test their accuracy by
reverting to the subject in the same or a future conversation,
contradict themselves most flatly. If you trouble yourself to point out
the inconsistency of their statements, they are ashamed—but only of not
having played their game better.
After a little preliminary conversation, I told the commissioner that
Prince Prisdang, the Siamese ambassador in London, had promised about
seven months before to write to the King of Siam about my mission, and
had written to Mr Colquhoun as follows: “I have no hesitation in
informing you that any well-digested scheme which has for its object the
improvement of the commercial position of Siam, and the consolidation of
the kingdom, will receive the attentive consideration of his Majesty and
my Government; and that his Majesty will allow all facilities to be
given for any purposes of exploration, or of gaining accurate knowledge,
by properly qualified persons, of the nature of the country proposed to
be traversed by the railway.”
He told me that he had received no instructions whatever on the subject
from the king, but no doubt he would receive them in a few days; in the
meantime he would gladly do all he could to aid me in my project.
I then asked him to aid me in gathering information about the trade and
population of the country, and to give me a letter to the various
princes in the district, asking them to aid me to the utmost in their
power. This he promised to do, and the conversation became general. When
I received the letter, it proved to be so milk-and-watery that it was
worse than worthless, and Dr M‘Gilvary advised me to keep it as a
curiosity, and not to show it. All his other promises were merely
pie-crust—made to be broken.
Just as we were preparing to go, Phra Udon, the senior
assistant-commissioner, came bounding in like a clown at a circus,
greeting us all boisterously with “How do you all do? So glad you’ve
come. All well, I hope?” Then he hurried round from one to the other,
and shook hands in an affectionately jovial manner. I had heard about
this individual before I came, and was therefore more amused than
surprised at his manner. There was no ceremony about him. We were jolly
companions every one, and he would be delighted to be the tomfool of the
party. It is surprising how such a mountebank could have got even into
the Siamese service. From subsequent inquiry, I learnt that he was a
native of Ceylon, who, with other monks, had come over to Siam many
years ago at the invitation of the king, and who, managing to curry
favour at Court, threw off the yellow robe and entered the Government
service.
Conversation now passed into a shower of questions from Phra Udon, amid
which our answers could barely be squeezed edgewise; this moment
Siamese, the next English, and every now and then the two combined.
After a time, I grew weary of the assumed joviality, and was glad to say
good-bye and retreat from the scene.
Our next call was upon Chow Boo-re Rak, the Chow Hoo-a Muang Kyow, or
head of the Gem City—a man of fine stature, with a keen eye and
intelligent mind. We did not detain him long, because he was hearing
cases in his house, but went to see the king’s eldest son by a former
marriage, who holds the post of Chow Racha Boot; and afterwards Chow
Oo-ta-ra-kan, who, if primogeniture ruled the accession to the throne in
the Shan States, would have been King of Zimmé. To prevent disturbances
the King of Siam kept Noi Maha Prome, his father and the eldest son of a
former king, at Bangkok, until the day of his death.
Having finished our calls we strolled homewards, chatting about the
various people we had seen.
The Siamese judge, or commissioner, was appointed under the
Anglo-Siamese treaty of 1874, whereby we recognised the control of Siam
over the Shan States of Chiengmai, Lakon, and Lampoonchi (Zimmé, Lakon,
and Lapoon). This treaty arranged for the policing of the frontier, the
extradition of dacoits, and the appointment of Siamese judges at Zimmé.
The judges were to decide between British subjects having passports and
Siamese subjects; but a proviso was made that in case the British
subject did not consent to the jurisdiction of the court, his or her
case should be tried by the British consul at Bangkok, or the British
officer in the Yoonzaleen district of Lower Burmah.
Previous to this treaty the Siamese authority in the Shan States was
confined to the regulation of their foreign affairs and sanctioning the
appointments of their elected chiefs, Siam protecting the Shan States of
Chiengmai, or Zimmé; Lamphang Lakhon, or Lakon; Lampoonchi, or Lapoon;
Muang Nan, or Nan; Muang Phrë, or Peh, or Prai, or Phray (these four
States were comprised in the ancient kingdom of Zimmé, and Lakon and
Lapoon still look up to Zimmé as their parent State, and in a vague
manner are controlled by it); and Luang Prabang, or Hluang Prabang. In
return for Siam’s protection against foreign invaders, these six States
agreed to send triennial tribute to Siam in the form of gold and silver
boxes, vases, and jewelled necklaces, together with curious gold and
silver trees valued at from £15 to £35 each.
Trade between British Burmah and Siam and its Shan States may be said to
date from the Anglo-Siamese treaty of 1855–56. Up to that time
Europeans, descendants of Europeans, Burmese, and Peguans from British
Burmah, were not allowed to enter the Siamese dominions for purposes of
trade, although our native of India subjects were permitted to do so.
Siam’s policy was simply that of perfect seclusion from her neighbours.
Next day Chow Oo-boon, accompanied by her eldest son Chow Sook Ka Same
and her niece, the only child of the queen, returned our call, and were
followed by a long train of attendants bearing silver-handled umbrellas,
and gold betel-boxes, water-jars, and cigarette-platters. The son looked
thirteen years of age, and the niece about two years younger. The
missionaries said the children when grown up would make an excellent
match, but they were doubtful whether the queen would consent to the
union, as the father of the boy was not of royal blood. They were both
very well behaved, and were evidently fond of Dr and Mrs M‘Gilvary. Chow
Oo-boon had been the steady friend of the missionaries at Zimmé ever
since the Mission had been founded.
This princess was no ordinary person, and her life was a romance. Highly
intelligent, and a capital woman of business, a great trader, and the
owner of large tracts of land, extensive teak-forests, and numerous
elephants, serfs, and slaves, love was yet to her “the summer’s sun,
nature gay adorning.” She was very amorously inclined, and during many
years had given the queen great anxiety and trouble in controlling her
headstrong fancies. Her first husband was the eldest son of the eldest
son of a former King of Zimmé, and would have been on the throne had the
rule of succession been the same as in Europe. Their only child, a
daughter, is married to Chow Sing Kam, the eldest son of Chow Racha
Boot, and therefore the grandson of the present king.
Since her first widowhood the princess had made several _mésalliances_
with people not of the royal family, much to the annoyance of the queen,
who not only refused to acknowledge the marriages, but removed the
objects of her affection beyond her reach. At length Chow Oo-boon sought
to foil her sister by selecting a wealthy Burmese timber-trader, over
whom she thought the queen dare not exercise authority, as he was a
British subject. Here she was mistaken. The queen had him apprehended
and escorted to the frontier, where he was told that it would be well
for him to keep away from Zimmé for the future. Not to be balked, as
soon as this Burmese was over the border, she selected another, and
began philandering with him.
The queen was now quite out of patience, so one dark night, when the
Burman was on his way to the princess’s residence, he was waylaid and
clubbed to death. Greatly enraged at this assassination, Chow Oo-boon is
said to have done her utmost to have the matter brought to trial by the
British authorities, who, however, considered it politic to pass it
over. Years had passed since then, the sisters were reconciled, and Chow
Oo-boon gave no more cause for anxiety, but expended her love and care
upon the education of her children.
After chatting for a little while, the princess invited us to dinner on
the following Saturday, March 1st, and said that, as we should be
detained waiting for elephants for two, or perhaps three days, she had
arranged for two of hers to be at our house the next morning to take us
to the pagoda on Loi Soo Tayp; it would be a pleasant excursion for us,
and I could get a fine view of the country from the enclosure.
Whilst we were talking, two of her ladies-in-waiting were crouched at
her feet ready to hand her cigarettes or her betel-box, whilst others
were seated on the staircase near the edge of the verandah, and a few
were following the children, who with young M‘Gilvary were racing about
the house and enjoying themselves. Before the princess left, I brought
out some Maltese jewellery, and said I should be much pleased if she
would accept it as a present. She admired the filigree-work, and was
evidently much gratified, and asked me if I had a sister or a wife, as
she would like to have embroidered shirts made for them if I thought
they would be pleased with them. I said that my sister would be
delighted to accept one, as she was very fond of beautiful things; and
Shan embroideries, particularly the specimens seen at her house, were
certainly exquisite in their design and workmanship.
When our visitors had gone, Mrs M‘Gilvary told me that the queen as well
as the princess frequently visited her, and that her daughter, Mrs
Cheek, at their request had made them full suits of European dress, and
that they looked very well in them. I should think, however, that their
handsome native costumes suit them much better, and it would be a pity
to hide their feet in shoes or boots, for, like their hands, they are
delicately formed—small and narrow, and decidedly pretty.
Next morning two male elephants with silver trappings, and roofed
howdahs with beautifully carved frames, were led up to the verandah for
us to mount. Mine was a very large one, measuring fully ten feet from
the top of the shoulder to the ground, but rather awkward in its gait,
which made it unpleasant to ride; Dr Cushing’s was slightly smaller, and
more agreeable for riding. Ease in gait is one of the great
considerations when hiring or purchasing an elephant to ride, for there
is as much difference in their gait as there is in that of horses. One
with pleasant paces and a swift walk always fetches a high price, and
should walk fully four miles an hour, or double the pace of an ordinary
elephant. Females are very often easier for riding than the males, but
it is considered derogatory for a noble to be seen on one.
Having comfortably settled ourselves in our howdahs, with a tin of
gingerbread nuts, a Chinese cosey-covered teapot, and an enamelled iron
cup and saucer on each of our seats, and our lunch packed away under
them, we started, and after crossing the river above the bridge,
followed the road which skirts the northern moat of the city. In half an
hour we passed the White Elephant Gate, the chief entrance to the city;
and after traversing rice-fields for about an hour, we reached the foot
of the hill, and commenced to ascend the spur by a path which runs
between the aqueduct that supplies Zimmé with water, and Huay Kao, the
parent stream. The foot of the hill lies four miles from the east end of
the bridge.
To the north of the city, immediately bordering the road we had
traversed, lay the remains of the ancient city of Kiang Yuen, which has
perhaps given rise to the Zimmé Shans being known as Yuen Shans by the
Burmese. I had no time to inspect the ruins, but noticed several large
temples and pagodas. One of the latter, known as the Chinese pagoda, is
peculiar in shape, being formed of five flattened balls of brick
masonry, each diminishing at the top, and placed one above the other. It
has no umbrella, or _htee_, at the top, and is said to have been erected
by a Chinese general named Utau, when besieging the city some centuries
ago.
Some distance beyond the city the road crosses the ramparts and moats of
a large fort, which had been erected by the Burmese when they last
besieged the city in 1776. This fort is now known as Muang Soon Dok, the
town of the flower-garden. To the south of the fort, and between the
city and Loi Soo Tayp, are the ruins of Muang La Maing, the ancient
capital of the Lawas, of which nothing but the ramparts and ditches
remain. It is upon the site of this city that Kun Ngu, the third son of
Kun Lung, the chief of Muang Mau, is said to have built his capital. Kun
Lung, according to the story of Muang Mau, which was translated by Mr
Ney Elias, descended from heaven by a golden ladder into the Shweli
valley, near Bhamo, in A.D. 568.
The ascent of the hill as far as the waterfall, which lies about a mile
and a half from the foot of the hill, was easy, and from thence onwards
the slope became rather steep. The aqueduct takes its water from the
Huay Kao just above where the stream plunges over a ledge forming the
crest of the fall, and a shelter for many small images that have been
placed under it by pious pilgrims. A small temple containing a solitary
image of Gaudama has been erected near the head of the fall.
Continuing the ascent along the bank of the torrent, which rushed,
glistening and foaming, down its channel of bare granite rock, at eleven
o’clock we reached the rest-houses at the foot of the knoll on whose
crest the Mya Sapeet _chedi_, or pagoda of the Emerald Rice-bowl, is
erected. The journey from the east end of the bridge had taken us four
and a half hours, the distance being a little over eight miles.
Weary with the incessant rolling and jolting we had suffered from our
long-legged, cumbersome beasts, we felt relieved from suffering as we
stepped off the elephant’s head on to the verandah railing of one of the
rest-houses, and threw ourselves down on the floor for a stretch whilst
our breakfast was being prepared.
After our meal we ascended a long flight of steps, bordered by fine
large pine-trees, to the enclosure containing the religious buildings.
The avenue of pines was most likely planted by the Burmese when they
built, repaired, or added to the pagoda in 1760. We found an inscription
giving this date for the erection of the pagoda on a board in a corner
of one of the buildings. The Shan history of Zimmé gives the date of the
pagoda as 1790, but this evidently refers only to further additions or
repairs.
The enclosure on the summit of the knoll is square, and surrounded by a
roofed shed which faces inwards, and has an entrance-gate in the centre
of each side. The pagoda is Burmese in design, about 50 feet high,
covered with copper plates heavily gilded, and surrounded by a
copper-sheathed iron railing. The pedestals at the four corners of the
basement of the pagoda are coated with a glass mosaic of various
colours, and facing each side of the pagoda is a temple containing an
image of Gaudama. The walls and posts of the temples are richly
decorated with designs in gold and vermilion. The platform of the
enclosure is 1993 feet above the plain, and 3001 feet above mean
sea-level. The summit of Loi Soo Tayp appeared to be about 3000 feet
higher than the crest of the knoll.
From the entrances facing the plain, on a clear day the view must be
magnificent; but at the time of our visit the hills on the other side of
the plain were shrouded in haze, and we could only see the country for
two or three miles beyond the town. The city and villages were hidden by
the foliage, and the whole plain as far as we could see looked one great
orchard of palm and fruit-trees, with here and there a narrow slip of
rice-plain. Nothing can be more deceptive than travelling through such a
country, the great hedges of fruit-trees and clumps of handsome bamboos
that fringe the fields continually hiding the extent of the cultivation.
In the fringes surrounding the fields, and in the beautiful groves that
are scattered about, lie the houses of the villagers, making it simply
impossible without a census to arrive, or even make a near guess, at the
population.
Seeing one of the _Ka-wat_, or pagoda slaves, sweeping up some fallen
leaves, Dr Cushing asked him to relate the legend of the pagoda, and the
origin of its name. In reply, he told us that, long, long ago, a company
of _Pee_, or spirits, brought five of the bowls which are used for
begging by the monks, and offered them at the shrine. These were each of
different colours—red, yellow, white, blue, and green—cut out of
precious gems, and fitted one within the other; the green, or emerald
bowl, containing the rest. The pagoda is therefore named “The Pagoda of
the Emerald Rice-bowl.” He further assured us that the right name for
Loi Soo Tayp was Loi Soo Tee, its name having originated from a white
elephant that ascended the mountain, bearing sacred relics, exclaiming
as he reached the top, “Soo Tee,” or “the place ends.”
The pagoda slaves are looked upon as outcasts by the remainder of the
people, and are either the descendants of pagoda slaves, or have been
dedicated to the service of the pagoda by their master on account of the
merit accruing to the deed, or have been so dedicated as a punishment
for crimes they have committed. Not even a king dare free a pagoda
slave; for if he did so, he would after this life infallibly have to
descend to the bottom of the most fearful hell. They are not only pagoda
slaves and outcasts, but their posterity must remain so during the
dispensation of Gaudama Buddha, embracing a period of 5000 years after
his death, which is said to have occurred B.C. 543. Pagoda slaves may
not be employed in any other work than keeping the shrine in order, and
are obliged to present tithes of all they produce for the use and
maintenance of the pagoda and its monks. On our return the journey took
only three hours and a half, as the elephants went quickly down the
hill, and were in a hurry to get home for their evening’s feed.
In the evening I besieged Dr M‘Gilvary, endeavouring to persuade him to
accompany us to Kiang Hsen. I assured him that the journey should be no
expense to his Mission, either for food or for elephants; that he would
be of very great use in collecting information from the people; and that
it would be delightful both for Dr Cushing and myself to have his
company. He said that he was really unable to go with us on that
journey, as his year’s supply of boots were on their way from Bangkok,
and the ones he had would fall to pieces before he returned. I replied
that I had two pairs of Walkingphast’s boots, which were quite new, and
I should be so pleased if he would try them on; that they were spare
ones; and that I should certainly not need more than one pair besides
those I had in use; that his doing so would be an actual relief to me,
as I felt that I was carrying about useless baggage. He was very shy of
the offer at first; but I succeeded in talking his wife over, and she
managed to persuade him not to disappoint us, and that the trip was
exactly what his health required. I shall ever remember this good lady
and her husband with pleasure, admiration, and gratitude. They were
utterly unselfish in all their thoughts and actions, and quite untiring
in heaping kindness upon us.
The following days I strolled about the place, and visited several of
the Burmese foresters with Loogalay, who had been having a high time
amongst them, but found they knew very little about any part of the
country except in the regions where they worked their forests. They all
lived in large substantial teak-built houses, and appeared to be well
off, if one might judge by the liquors and other refreshments they
placed on their table.
I learnt from them the Shan and Burmese names of many of the trees,
which afterwards enabled me to record them in Burmese when only the Shan
names were given me. Nothing strikes a traveller in Indo-China more than
the extensive knowledge of the flora of the country possessed by the
people. Not only can an ordinary villager tell you the names of the
various plants and trees that you meet, but also their uses, whether as
dyes, drugs, oils, or resins.
On expressing my surprise at there being so many temples and monasteries
in the city and neighbourhood, they said that, although many had of late
years been repaired by the Shans, nearly all of them had been built by
the Burmese when governing the country from A.D. 1564 to 1774.