PAYING FOR SUPPLIES—LAND AND TEAK-FORESTS BELONG TO CHIEFS—LAND
RENT—LIGHT TAXATION—LEAVE MUANG DOO—UPPER MEH HKUANG—ASCEND A
PLATEAU—A SURPRISE—LUONG HKORT—THE MEH HKORT—PASS BETWEEN THE
DRAINAGE OF THE MEH PING AND MEH KONG—PRECAUTION AGAINST
DEMONS—SHANS WILL NOT TRAVEL ALONE—A SCARE FOR TIGERS—HEAD-DRESSING
AND TATTOOING OF ZIMMÉ SHANS—CHARMS LET IN THE FLESH—A QUIET
RACE—VILLAGERS RESPONSIBLE FOR LOSS AND CRIME IN NEIGHBOURHOOD—MUST
NOT LEAVE VILLAGE WITHOUT PERMISSION—SURVEYING UNDER
DIFFICULTIES—THE LITTLE ELEPHANT’S FUN—THE MEH WUNG AND MEH PING—A
VAST PLAIN DEPOPULATED—TIMIDITY OF ELEPHANTS—RESIDENCE FOR
DEMONS—REACH VIANG PA POW.
The next day we waited in vain for the Chows, and for another elephant
with the things that we had left behind. I whiled away the time by
sketching one of the houses and the hills to the east of the plain, and
in taking observations for the daily curve of the aneroid readings, and
for temperature. The house was thatched with leaves of the eng tree, and
the thatching was continued under the south gable-end and over part of
the verandah platform. In the garden was a pond with a good many ducks
on it, and one of the usual granaries, which are roofed, and formed of
large barrel-shaped bamboo baskets, well raised from the ground, and
plastered over to keep out rats, mice, and insects.
During the afternoon I was much amused by watching Dr Cushing, who
appeared to be both puzzled and annoyed. We had made it a rule to pay
for everything that we received from the people, and the Chow Phya, or
judge, who accompanied us, had ordered the head-man of the village to
bring in the usual provisions of rice, chickens, and ducks that are
presented to officers when travelling through a district. There they
were all at the Doctor’s feet; but how could he pay for them? The rice
had been collected in cupfuls, a cup from each house. No coin was small
enough to pay for a cupful, and it would be absurd, if not impossible,
to attempt to pay for it. Then the fowls and ducks were unaccompanied by
their owners, and if he gave the money to the head-man, that functionary
would have simply pocketed it, and the villagers would have been still
unpaid. Here was a fix. We required the poultry, and must have the rice.
At last he settled it with his conscience by accepting the rice as a
present, and sending the head-man back to fetch the owners of the birds.
Whether the right men were paid or not, even then, was a source of
perplexity to him. This little scene was reacted at nearly every village
we halted at throughout the journey, and the qualms of our consciences
were eased at the cost of much worry, and at the expense of our being
considered fools by the Shan officials, who could not understand our
objection to preying on the people, and our departing from the customs
of the land.
[Illustration:
_A Shan house._
]
The whole country belongs nominally to the five supreme chiefs, who form
the Government. These grant certain districts to other princes and
nobles, who receive a bucket of rice for every bucket that is planted by
the people, as land-tax or rent for the land occupied by them. The
teak-forests give a large revenue to the chiefs. Taxation is light, and,
outside the monopolies on pigs, spirits, and opium, is made up chiefly
of not very burdensome import and export duties. From all I could learn,
the people were much better off and infinitely better treated than the
people in Siam.
Early the next day, the elephant with the remainder of our baggage
arrived from Zimmé, and I received a letter telling me that Dr Paul
Neis, of the French navy, who had been surveying the country to the
north and east of Luang Prabang, had arrived at Zimmé _viâ_ Kiang Hai.
We soon afterwards heard that the two Chows were camped about five miles
ahead, waiting for us, and we therefore determined to start.
Leaving Muang Doo at half-past ten, we followed the Meh Kok, a canal 30
feet broad and 4 feet deep, to the village of Tone Kow Tau, and soon
afterwards left the rice-plain and entered a pass, with the crests of
the hills half a mile distant on either side of us. Through this short
gap the Meh Hkuang flows on its way to join the Meh Ping. After leaving
the pass, we crossed a bend of the river, which is here 80 feet wide and
7 feet deep, and halted on its banks, close to the camp of the Chows.
The prince appeared very glad to see us, and said that the mistake
through which we had not met earlier had arisen from our having started
from Zimmé in the afternoon instead of in the morning.
After a good night’s rest, we were awakened by the shrill cry of
peacocks, which seemed to be challenging each other from all directions,
and by half-past seven had everything packed and had left the camp. We
were in high glee at again being under way, and felt like schoolboys off
for a holiday. The morning was simply delightful, the air was delicious,
and although most of the trees were leafless, the temperature at
starting was only 55°. Turning northwards, we followed the Meh Kang, a
stream 30 feet wide and 6 feet deep, to the village of Ban Hai, and
shortly afterwards crossed it, and commenced to ascend, amidst outcrops
of traprock, the steep slope of Loi Pa Chāu.
The ascent, although only 500 feet, was tedious, and took us an hour and
a half, as the elephants had to crawl up, resting after every footfall,
before they raised their huge bodies up for another step. The slope was
clad with teak-trees, and the village at the crest of the ascent is
known as Ban Pa Sak, the village of the teak-forest. This village and
its surroundings was a great surprise for us—like what the Giant’s
country must have been to Jack after mounting his bean-stalk. What we
had taken for an ordinary unoccupied range of hills when we were
crossing the Zimmé plain, was an extensive undulating plateau; and here
on its very edge was a village, beautifully situated amid gardens of
palms and fruit-trees, with a pleasant little brook of icy-cold water
meandering through it from some springs near at hand. The village is
251½ miles from Hlineboay, and 1820 feet above the sea.
After crossing the plateau, we descended along the Meh Ka Lah to the Meh
Hkort, and halted for the night at the village of Luong Hkort, which is
situated in a broad part of the valley. A small monastery, temple, and
pagoda adorn the crest of a low flat-topped spur, about a mile to the
north-east of the village.
Leaving a little before seven the next morning, and turning east, we
ascended the narrow valley of the Meh Hkort, and the following morning
reached the crest of the pass. The incline of the valley had been easy
throughout, and the deep shade of the forest had made the journey from
Luong Hkort very pleasant.
The water-parting which separates the streams draining into the Meh Ping
from those flowing to the Meh Kong, was 276 miles from Hlineboay and
4235 feet above the sea. The rise in the fifteen miles from the village
had been 2656 feet. This was the highest point reached by me upon any of
my journeys. The thermometer at 10.15 A.M. read 71°, or 9° less than it
had been at the same time at Muang Doo.
Following the Meh Chay Dee down-stream, we reached a halting-space, and
found the place so pretty and the flowers of the bauhinea-trees in its
neighbourhood so fragrant, that we settled to spend the next day,
Sunday, there. We had descended 1003 feet in six miles from the crest of
the pass, and I was astonished to find teak-trees interspersed through
the forest at a height of 3089 feet above the sea.
[Illustration:
_A ta-lay-ow._
]
I noticed that the elephant-drivers placed _ta-lay-ows_, or small pieces
of lattice-work, on tall sticks stuck in the ground, on the paths
leading to and from the camp; and on inquiry, I learned that they were
intended to entangle any evil spirits that might wish to injure our
party. The Shans consider such precautions fully sufficient to ward off
their malignant foes. The spirits, in their opinion, have as little
intelligence as the birds of the air, and any scarecrow device will keep
them at a distance. You cannot send a man alone even with a letter,
because a Zimmé Shan will not travel without a companion; and on our
asking the reason, we were told that ill would certainly come to the man
who drew the water if he likewise made the fire. It gave one quite an
eerie feeling to be with a people who believed the land to be full
“Of calling shapes, and beck’ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues, that syllable men’s names
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses.”[2]
Another device that one notices at the cattle-camps is an array of pegs
rising about eighteen inches from the ground, joined together by a
creeper, or a cane if it be handy, and enclosing the space within which
the cattle are tethered. The people believe that tigers, trying to steal
into the camp, come with their breasts against the cane, and finding it
yield, retreat for fear that it may be a trap. Travellers shun camps
that have been used for cattle, as they are generally infested with
gadflies and other disagreeable insects.
The Zimmé Shans, unlike the British Shans, do not wear a chignon, nor
twine a silk handkerchief round their head, but have their hair dressed
either in the ancient or modern Siamese styles. The modern style much
resembles the European fashion; the ancient style consists in shaving
the sides and back of the head, and merely leaving a tuft like a
clothes-brush at the crown. Their bodies are tattooed from the waist
downwards, sometimes as far as the ankle. This custom does not now
extend either to the Siamese or to the Lao Shans, who occupy Luang
Prabang and the portion of the Meh Kong valley that lies to the south of
it, although tattooing is known to have been general among their
ancestors in the country to the north and south of the Yangtsze Kiang
long before our era commenced. It is not unlikely that the Burmese
acquired the habit from the Shans. The tattooing generally consists of
figures of birds and beasts and mythical monsters, including dragons and
ogres. Men who prize the reputation of being dare-devils have charms in
the form of cabalistic signs, arrangements of numbers and words,
contained in squares tattooed in red on their chest, back, and arms.
The tattooing instrument is a single split needle set in a heavy brass
socket. Having filled the needle with a preparation of indigo, the
operator pricks the pattern by a series of small punctures into the
skin. Vermilion is used when tattooing the upper part of the body.
Some dacoits let in talismans under the flesh, and precious stones are
carried about in the same manner. The talismans are mystical
incantations inscribed on gold, silver, lead, pebbles, pieces of
tortoise-shell, or even horn. It is not at all uncommon to meet a Shan
with several knobs on his chest, concealing the talismans that he has
inserted as charms to render him proof against bullet and sword. There
is perhaps not a man in the country who does not carry about with him
one or more charms; some string them like beads and wear them as
necklaces.
As a rule, the Zimmé Shans are a very quiet and tractable people, and
have a strong sense of what is just and right. Very few crimes occur
among them: this may be partly due to the people not being allowed to
leave their neighbourhood without the permission of their local
head-men, and to villagers being held responsible for any loss or crime
that may occur in their district, unless they can prove that the loss
was accidental, or can trace the crime to the culprit.
Having enjoyed our Sunday’s rest, we left early the next morning, and
continued skirting, and frequently crossing, the stream. The deep forest
through which we passed was scented by the fragrance of
bauhinea-blossoms, and decked with the flowers of the _pinleh kathyt_
and _poukbin_. The covering of my howdah was soon nearly destroyed by
the bamboo-bushes, which in places had partly overgrown the path. The
mahouts were lopping off the overhanging branches and sprays that were
likely to interfere with the howdahs; the elephants were tugging down
saplings and crushing them under foot; and I had to be constantly on the
alert to guard against the spear-points of the lopped bamboos that
pierced through the roof and threatened to poke out my eyes. Surveying
the constant twists of the path under such circumstances is both
difficult and dangerous.
The valley became wider as we proceeded, and little plains from 400 to
800 feet across were of frequent occurrence. The procession of elephants
frequently closed up, owing to our having to cut our way, and I was able
to see the pranks the little elephant accompanying the prince played
with the men: he was making little rushes and hustling them over, and at
times giving a sudden lurch as he trotted by them, which, unless they
were ready and nimble, had the same effect. Every one was laughing at
each other’s discomfiture, and Ramasawmy, Dr Cushing’s boy, was crowning
Portow’s great straw hat, unbeknown to him, with a garland of leaves.
The granite boulders ceased near the 288th mile, where pine-trees still
crowned the low spurs on either side of us. Shortly afterwards we passed
a caravan of thirty-one laden cattle. Soon great glades appeared in the
forest, which gradually assumed a park-like appearance, and it became
apparent that we were on a great rolling and formerly cultivated plain
which extended as far as the eye could reach. Through the vast plateau
now spread before us, the Meh Low, flowing north, passes on its way to
the Meh Kong, and to the east of it the Meh Wung, flowing south,
proceeds to join the Meh Ping. The dip to the Meh Low was not
perceptible, and the rise in the plateau dividing that river from the
Meh Wung seemed one with that which we were descending. Loi Mun Moo, the
range to the east of the Meh Wung, was 18 miles distant, and not
perceptible, being hidden by the haze. The water-parting between the two
rivers, I found on a subsequent journey, was only 2148 feet above the
sea, or 181 feet lower than the camp we had breakfasted at.
[Illustration:
_View of Loi Mok and the head of the Meh Wung at 4.42 P.M. 10th
March._
]
The plain had evidently been at one time under cultivation, as very few
trees had been left standing: the population had doubtless been swept
away in the wars of last century, and was still too sparse to cultivate
one-twentieth of the splendid plain. The scrub-jungle and grass on the
slope of the high plateau to the north-west was in a blaze as we turned
to the north and approached it; the elephants began trumpeting with
fear, and we were forced to make a slight detour in order to prevent
them from becoming panic-stricken. Elephants, although immense in size,
are very timid, and easily startled. We had to take them off the path
and turn their heads away into the jungles whenever we heard the
tinkling bells of an approaching caravan; and they will turn tail and
run at the sight of any audacious little dog that thinks fit to bark at
them. I have been told that their eyes slightly magnify objects, and
they imagine the little dogs are much larger than they really are. This
may be so, but one requires to be very cautious in accepting such
statements from gentlemen who, on meeting a stranger, are glad to take
him in.
Near the 295th mile I entered the rice-fields of Ban Fuee Hai, and after
crossing the Meh Low, 30 feet broad, 8 feet deep, with 1½ foot of water,
halted near Viang Pa Pow to sketch the hills in which the Meh Wung takes
its rise. We camped for the night at three rest-houses lying to the
north-west of the palisade and moat of the city. Another rest-house in
palisaded grounds at the south-west of the city has been set apart for
the residence of the local demons, and their offerings are frequently
made to appease them and keep them in good temper. Our camp was 300¼
miles from Hlineboay, and 1721 feet above the sea.