LEAVE FOR MUANG FANG—THE TEMPLE OF THE WHITE ELEPHANTS—TRAINING
ELEPHANTS—EVENING SERVICE IN A TEMPLE—LEGEND OF WAT PRA NON—SNAKE
AND SIVA WORSHIP—CARAVANS—STICKLAC TREES NOT CUT DOWN—THE 400
FOOTPRINTS OF BUDDHA—WILD TEA—VISIT TO SHAN LADIES—LOW DRESSES—RULES
OF HOSPITALITY—WORSHIPPING THE MANES—A ZYLOPHONE—IMPLEMENTS OF
EXPECTANT BUDDHA—STRAINING WATER—LEGENDS OF LOI CHAUM HAUT AND LOI
KIANG DOW—THE PALACE OF THE ANGELS—DEMONS CANNOT HARM
CHRISTIANS—CHRISTIANITY A GREAT BOON—ACCIDENT TO ANEROID—A VICIOUS
ELEPHANT—FOOT-AND-MOUTH DISEASE—SNARES FOR DEMONS—A PANORAMA OF
HILLS—SOURCES OF THE MEH PING AND MEH TENG—A RIVER PASSING UNDER A
MOUNTAIN—MUAN HANG AN ANCIENT LAKE-BASIN—RIVAL CLAIMS OF PING SHANS
AND BRITISH SHANS OR NGIO—THE UPPER DEFILE OF THE MEH PING—A
MOONLIGHT SCENE—ENTANGLING DEMONS AT THE FRONTIER—A CHINESE FORT—LOI
PA-YAT PA-YAI—MAPPING THE COUNTRY—DR M‘GILVARY’S SERMON—REACH KIANG
DOW—PETROLEUM AT KIANG DOW AND MUANG FANG.
On the afternoon of May 7th everything was packed, and after collecting
together at Dr M‘Gilvary’s we started, crossed the river above the
bridge, and halted for a few minutes at the dispensary to load a large
tent that Dr Peoples had kindly placed at our disposal. We then
proceeded along the broad road that skirts the city on the north as far
as the White Elephant Gate, and then turned northwards along the White
Elephant road, which is 35 feet wide, and kept in excellent order.
A quarter of a mile from the city we passed Wat Chang Peuk, the temple
of the White Elephants, which contains two whitewashed life-sized images
of the front, head, shoulders, and fore-legs of these animals. Each
stands under a masonry arch closed up at the back; one faces the north,
and the other the west. Fresh grass and flowers had been placed by
devout passers-by in the curve of the elephant-trunks. These effigies,
as well as those of two ogres, and a Russi in the grounds of the Wat
Hluang at Zimmé, were erected as a protection to the city in 1799.
Half a mile farther we passed a beautiful temple decorated with red
lacquer, and profusely gilded, which had been lately built by Princess
Chow Oo Boon. The _mai cha-lau_ trees, which are numerous, were in full
blossom, and many beautiful orchids were suspended from the smaller
trees. At 3½ miles from the bridge over the river, which I now mile
from, we halted for the night at Wat Pra Non, the temple of the
reclining Gaudama. Our march after leaving the city skirted the
rice-fields of the Zimmé plain on the west.
As we passed the elephant stables of the Zimmé chief, I noticed the mode
in which they train a refractory animal. He is confined in a pen barely
large enough to admit his body, constructed of two strong post-and-rail
fences, like the parallel vaulting-bars at a gymnasium. Between these,
which are slightly inclined towards the front, the elephant is squeezed,
and then enclosed and forced to be obedient.
The abbot of the monastery, who had held his post for thirty years,
courteously allowed us to occupy an outbuilding of the temple. On going
to the evening service we found the great, richly gilded image of
Gaudama reclining on its right side, supporting its head with its hand,
and covered by a star-spangled canopy. The image was forty-seven feet in
length. The walls, ceilings, and pillars of the temple were tastefully
decorated with gilt on a red lacquer ground, resembling the rich
Japanese wall-papers now in vogue. The monotonous chant of the monks,
and the great taper candles alight before the image, reminded me of a
service in a Catholic cathedral.
After the service I asked the abbot whether there was any history
attached to the monastery; and in reply, he related the following
legend: “During the existence on earth of the third Buddh, he came and
lodged under the great mango-tree, near whose former site this temple
stands, when a Yak, with the usual ogre propensities, not knowing that
he was a Buddh, came to attack and devour him. On learning his mistake,
the Yak made obeisance, and the Buddh gave him his blessing. One of the
Yak’s teeth—Yak’s teeth are as large as wild-boar tusks—fell out, and
the Buddh presented him with a handful of his hair, and told him to
place it in the hollow of the tooth, and bury it in the Hoo Nak, or
dragon’s hole.
The Yak then requested Buddh to preach a sermon for his benefit, but he
refused, saying: “Another Buddh will come at some future time and do
so.” Having said this, he departed on his merciful mission to the
universe.
When Gaudama the fourth Buddh came, he rested on the mango-tree, which
had fallen down from age. On the Yak approaching to devour him, Gaudama
remonstrated with him as the former Buddh had done, and told him that he
was a Buddha. The Yak refusing to believe this, as the former Buddh was
of enormous size, and Gaudama was small, Gaudama by his _aiswarya_
(supernatural power derived from accumulated merit) expanded to the size
of the former Buddh. After the Yak had worshipped, and received
Gaudama’s blessing, another of his tusks fell out, and after having some
of the Buddh’s hair placed in it, was buried, like the first one, in the
dragon’s hole. On the Yak asking Gaudama to preach him a sermon, he
consented to do so if the Yak would build him a place of shelter, and
fetch him some cool water. The Yak, calling two other friendly ogres to
help him, at once made the sheltering-place; and proceeding a little
distance to the south-east of the site of the monastery, dug the deep
pool which is known as Nong Luang Kwang, and brought water for the Buddh
to bathe and drink.
Gaudama then preached a sermon, and foretold that the Yak in a future
existence should be born chief of Zimmé, and the two friendly Yaks
should be born kings of Siam, and their descendants should reign for
many generations. When the prophecy was fulfilled, the Yak, who became
in his after-existence King of Zimmé, built the great reclining image in
Wat Pra Non. After preaching and prophesying, Gaudama left, and
proceeded to Ko-sin-na-li, where he entered Neiban.
Another peculiar belief of the people is in the power of snakes. _Naga_,
or snake, worship, which was the State religion in Upper Burmah from
A.D. 924 to A.D. 1010, still exists in the Shan States to the east of
it, and even in Northern Siam. On one of his journeys in the Shan
States, Dr Cushing found himself in an unpleasant predicament through
killing a viper that he saw sunning itself on the bank of a lake. The
Shans declared that it was the guardian spirit of the lake; it never bit
any one, and had always been allowed to go and come when and where it
liked.
Another case of snake-worship I heard of whilst staying in Bangkok. It
appears that a certain temple in Kampheng Phet contained a large bronze
image of Phya Nakh, the king of the Nagas, which was said to be very
ancient, and was held in high veneration by people for miles round. A
German merchant chancing to visit the temple, thought how extremely well
the image would look in a German museum, and accordingly determined to
annex it. Waiting till night had fallen, he proceeded quietly to the
temple with his boatmen, and tried to carry it off. Finding that it was
too heavy to remove entire, he broke off the head and the lower portions
of the arms, together with the hands, the fingers of which were covered
with rings, and carried them away. There was a great outcry the next
morning, and the matter was reported to the King of Siam, who was highly
indignant at the ruthless destruction of an object of veneration, and,
after some correspondence, had the parts that had been carried away
returned. From a photograph of the head and hands I thought that the
image must be one of Siva, as it had the mark resembling the third eye
on the forehead, and a serpent above the crown, which I fancied might be
intended for a flame of fire; but I was assured by a gentleman who had
seen the body and the pedestal, that the twining snakes about them left
no doubt that the image was intended for the king of the Nagas. An
entire image of such a Siva, or else snake-god, was seen by Mr Bourne
near Ssumao. The horrid image was “seated on a white ox, with a sash
composed of human heads round its breast, and armed with a trident and
bell. It had six arms covered with snakes, and three faces, with the
usual scar in the middle of the forehead replaced by an eye. An
intelligent native told us it was the local god. And to the remark that
he was of dreadful aspect, he replied ‘Yes; he is just like that.’”
That Siva—whose text-books are “those singular compounds of
cabalistic mystery, licentiousness, and blood, the Agamas or
Tantras”—was worshipped in the Zimmé Shan kingdom as late as the
middle of last century, is evidenced by the ‘History of Lakon,’
which states, that “at this time the chief priest of the temple,
called Wat Na Yang, was a sorcerer, conjuring spirits by the means
of the skulls of persons who had died a violent death. He came to be
considered a man of extraordinary merit, and was consulted by every
one.” Comparing this statement with Dr W. H. Mills’s translation of
the Prabodha-chandra-udaya, Act 3, that appeared in J.R.A.S. No. 61
of 1837, I think there can be little doubt on the matter. The
translation runs thus—
“With flesh of men, with brain and fat well smeared,
We make our grim burnt-offering,—break our fast
From cups of holy Brahman’s skull,—and ever
With gurgling drops of blood that plenteous stream
From hard throats quickly cut by us is worshipped
With human offerings meet, our god, dread Bhairava [Siva].”
We were lulled to sleep by the chanting of the pupils in the monastery,
and were awakened, soon after four o’clock the next morning, by the
tolling of the temple bells, two in number, each of bronze, with
inscriptions on them. One bell was three feet in diameter at the mouth,
and the other two feet. As the sun rose, and our elephants were being
loaded, a procession of men, women, and children was seen approaching
across the plain, bringing the day’s food for the monks and their
pupils, and small bags of sand to trim up the paths in the temple
grounds. A magnificent _padouk_ tree was in full flower near the temple,
round which clustered numerous bees, making the air musical with their
humming.
Leaving the temple, we continued skirting the rice-fields until we
crossed the Meh Sa (60 feet broad and 9 feet deep, with 1 foot of water)
close to its entrance into the Meh Ping, at 6½ miles. On the way we met
ten loaded elephants accompanied by two of their big babies, and
numerous caravans of laden cattle, some conveying tiles to Zimmé. Most
of the cattle had bells of metal or bamboo hung round their necks to
enable them to be easily traced when straying in the forest; and the
leaders had a bow, or arch, of bent wood fastened above their shoulders,
from which was suspended a metal bell 10 inches high and 4 inches long,
and 2 inches broad at the mouth. The orange-shaped fruit on the
_nuxvomica_ trees had been largely consumed by hornbills.
For the next mile and a half, until we reached the Meh Lim, we skirted
the river. The temples in the villages were beautifully ornamented with
carvings, and decorated with red and gold; and the gardens were fragrant
with the scent of pomelo and orange-trees, now in blossom. In the fields
we noticed many _pouk_ (stick-lac) trees,[16] and I was told by Dr
M‘Gilvary that, as there was a heavy penalty enacted for cutting these
trees down, they are left standing wherever the jungle is cleared.
The Meh Lim, which enters the Meh Ping from the west, with its affluents
the Meh Peum and Meh How, drains a great area of country, including some
extensive plains. Two days’ journey above its mouth this river passes
through a gorge, which is celebrated for its 400 footprints of Gaudama,
called _Pra Bat shee-roi_ or _Prabat see-hoi_. M‘Leod mentions these in
his journal as _Pa-bat Sip hoi_, and accounts for the name by saying
that “the four Buddhs have each trod on the identical stone, the prints
of each succeeding one being smaller than the preceding one.” I procured
the names of nine villages and an ancient city called Muang Ka on the
Meh Lim, and of seven villages on the Meh How and Meh Peun. Tea is said
to grow wild on the hills neighbouring these rivers.
Leaving the Meh Ping, we journeyed nearly due north, thus avoiding a
long bend of the river. A mile from our crossing of the Meh Lim, a low
hill called Loi Chong Teng, about two and a half miles long, and
surmounted near its southern end by a pretty pagoda, cropped up from the
plain a mile to the west. Here we caught a glimpse of the summer palace
of the Zimmé chief, which lay about 3½ miles to the north-east, near the
village of Wung Muang.
The foot of the hill was fringed by a line of villages embedded in
beautiful groves of fruit-trees. After passing the north end of the
hill, which drew in towards our path, we halted for breakfast at the
village of Nam Lin, situated 11½ miles from Zimmé. The spurs from the
main spur which separates the Meh Peun from the Meh Ping jutted into the
plain four miles to the west of the village, and the plateau-topped low
range to the east lay four miles distant, reducing the width of the
Zimmé plain to about seven or eight miles at this spot, from whence it
gradually decreases to the defile.
On our way to the village we halted for a few minutes to gain
information about the valley of the Meh Lim, and, accompanied by Dr
M‘Gilvary, I ascended the steps of a substantial-looking house, and
crossing the verandah, entered the reception-hall. Here we were welcomed
by an old lady, her daughter, and four granddaughters, the last of
various ages from fourteen to twenty-four. All were evidently in gala
array, their hair neatly dressed and decked with flowers, jewels on
their fingers and in the cylinders in the lobes of their ears, bracelets
on their wrists, and handsome gold chains round some of their necks, but
without jackets, or any other covering from the waist upwards, excepting
a handkerchief round the old lady’s top-knot.
In the Lao provinces of Siam, which lie in the basin of the Meh Kong to
the south of Luang Prabang, it is the rule amongst the Shans that a
woman whose husband is absent must not offer hospitality. In all cases
before hospitality is offered, the master of the house must first
worship the manes by lighting taper candles, and incense, and offering
prayers, the stranger waiting until the ceremony is finished. The Ping
Shans are not so strict, and no remonstrances were made at our
unexpected entrance. The young ladies, at a hint from their grandmother,
at once brought clean mats and three-cornered pillows to make us
comfortable, and their mamma offered us her silver betel-box, which
contained all the necessaries for a quid, which, I need not say, we
thankfully declined.
All seemed anxious that we should have correct information, even the
youngest daughter breaking in to mention the name of a village which the
others had forgotten. There was no timidity, no shyness, no awkwardness,
and apparently no self-consciousness, amongst the neat and comely little
damsels. Their demeanour was courtesy itself, and their manners and
deportment were as graceful and perfect as could be found in any
drawing-room in Europe.
In the temple where our breakfast was spread I noticed a native
zylophone, made of eighteen sonorous strips of hard wood fastened side
by side by strings and suspended over a boat-shaped sounding-board,
which had been hollowed out of a small log. There was a rough gradation
in the tones of the successive pieces, but no adherence to our musical
intervals.
[Illustration:
_Implements for the use of expectant Buddhas._
]
When calling on the abbot, I asked him the uses of six wooden
implements, painted red, standing about five feet high and placed in a
rack. They were evidently part of his paraphernalia, but not intended
for use. The abbot replied that they were for the use of Buddhas or
expectant Buddhas. Nos. 1, 2, and 3 were to shield his face when
worshipping, No. 4 for washing his clothes, and No. 6 for his umbrella.
The use of No. 5 has escaped me, but it somewhat resembles a bishop’s
crosier.
The abbot was a fat, sleepy-looking old gentleman, who considered it
trouble enough to answer our questions without asking any in return. On
noticing the sieve used by the monks to strain insects from their
drinking-water, to save them from the sin of destroying animal life, Dr
M‘Gilvary told him that, notwithstanding the sieve, thousands of
animalculæ remained in the water, and were thus consumed daily by him,
and this was evident by looking at a drop of water through the
microscope. The abbot merely shrugged his fat shoulders, and, with a
glimmer in his eye, replied that as long as he could not see them it
made no matter, so he need not grieve over it. The balustrades in the
verandah of the monastery had evidently been turned with a lathe.
[Illustration:
_View of Loi Chaum Haut._
]
Half a mile beyond the village I caught sight of Loi Chaum Haut (the
mountain with the top drawn in), an isolated mountain seemingly rising
some 5000 or 6000 feet above the plain. It lies to the east of the Meh
Ping, and is about 1000 feet lower than Loi Kiang Dow, the precipitous
mountain that stands, a monarch amongst the hills, to the west of the
river. A legend relates that formerly Loi Chaum Haut was higher than Loi
Kiang Dow, and that this annoyed Phya In, who straightway pressed its
head down until it was considerably lower than the more sacred Loi Kiang
Dow, in which is the entrance to the Dewahs’ country, where the great
genius Chow Kam Doang resides, who is the guardian spirit of the Zimmé
States. At the close of Gaudama’s dispensation (a _tha-tha-nah_ or 5000
years), Chow Kam Doang will be born as Phya Tam, and re-establish the
Buddhist religion for the next _tha-tha-nah_.
According to another legend, Gaudama Buddha, in a former state of
existence, was born on Loi Chaum Haut, and an aqueduct was constructed
by the Yaks to bring water to him from Ang Sa Lome, a lake that is said
to exist on the summit of Loi Kiang Dow. The aqueduct, unless it was a
siphon, must have been 6000 or 7000 feet high, a creditable, but hardly
credible, piece of engineering work.
The entrance to the Dewahs’ country is said to be by a cave that has its
exit in Loi Kat Pee, a spur of Loi Kiang Dow. Not far from the cave a
stream, 13 feet wide and 2½ feet deep, issues from the foot of the hill,
and is doubtless connected with the stream in the cave. According to the
legend: “After entering the cave and proceeding several hundred yards,
you come to a stream, about chest-deep, on the other side of which is an
image of pure gold, as large as life. Unless a man has superabundant
merit he will instantly expire if he attempts to pass the stream. A
month’s journey through the cave brings you to the Dewahs’ country and
the city of the Yaks, which is ruled over by Chow Kam Doang. There you
have but to wish to obtain all you can desire.”
This Vimana, or palace of the angels, is thus described in the ‘Book of
Indra,’ one of the most ancient of the Siamese law books: “There is a
celestial abode in the Dewah heavens, an aerial dwelling covered with
gold and gems, with roofs resplendent with gold and jewellery and
finials of crystal and pearl. The whole gleams with wrought and
unwrought gold more brilliant than all the gems. Around its eaves plays
the soft sound of tinkling golden bells. There dwelt a thousand lovely
houris, virgins in gorgeous attire, decked with the richest ornaments,
singing melodious songs in concert, whose resounding strains are
ceaseless. This celestial abode is adorned with lotus lakes, and
meandering rivers full of the five kinds of lotus, whose golden petals
as they fade fill all the air with fragrant odours. Round the lakes are
magnificent lofty trees growing in regular array, their leaves, their
boughs, and their branches covered with sweet-scented blossoms, whose
balmy fragrance fills the surrounding air with heart-delighting odours.”
The people of this fair palace, according to my informant, feed on
angel’s food, which he materialised to a close resemblance of that
described by Thomson in “The Castle of Indolence”—
“Whatever sprightly juice or tasteful food
On the green bosom of this earth are found,
And all old Ocean genders in his round:
Some hand unseen these silently displayed,
E’en undemanded by a sign or sound;
You need but wish; and instantly obeyed,
Fair ranged the dishes rose, and thick the glasses played.”
Dr M‘Gilvary once entered the cave with Nan Inta, one of his converts,
and the latter crossed the stream, but could not find the golden image.
The atmosphere was very damp, and fetid with bat odour, and they were
glad to get out of the cave without proceeding farther. The Shans say
that Nan Inta was wanting in merit, and therefore could not see the
image; and they account for his not dying instantly by the fact that he
was a Christian, over whom the spirits of the country have no power. As
the religion of the people is merely belief in the power of evil spirits
to work them harm, the best thing, even for their worldly happiness,
would be for them to become Christians, and thus free men—free from the
worst tyranny that exists on this earth, the tyranny of superstition,
which keeps its victims slaves, darkens their lives, and induces them to
perpetrate all kinds of inhuman actions. I never understood what a great
boon Christianity was to the world until I recognised what heathendom
was, and how it acted on its victims in the interior of Indo-China.
Chow Kam Doang—or, to give him his full title, Chow Pee Luang Kam
Doang—is the guardian spirit of the district: buffaloes and pigs are
yearly sacrificed to him. It is strange to find these genii, who, like
the Semitic gods, have wives and children, worshipped by the same people
who sacrifice to the Turanian spirits, who have neither wives nor
children, are neither male nor female, know not law and kindness, and
attend not to prayer and supplication, but have to be humoured like
fretful children to keep them in a good temper. Indo-China and China
appear to have been the meeting-place of religions, and the people have
shown not the slightest objection to try one after the other in case of
ill health and distress. Nearly every superstition that has ever
existed, and traces of nearly every religion, are to be found in the
country.
We continued through the rice-plain to Wat Lum Peun at 16¼ miles, where
we intended to halt for the night, but, finding it out of repair, we
left the route, and turning eastward for a mile and a half, camped for
the night, pitching our tent on the bank of the Meh Ping, in which we
enjoyed a good bath.
In unloading my elephant, the driver carelessly threw my large aneroid
barometer, with which I took intermediate heights betwixt my
boiling-point stations, to Moung Loogalay, instead of carefully handing
it down, as had always previously been done. Loogalay failed to catch
it, and it came to grief, throwing me back upon a smaller aneroid which
I had frequently tested and found less reliable, and making me doubtful
of the succeeding aneroid observations.
Next morning Dr M‘Gilvary’s elephant showed temper when it was being
mounted, starting off suddenly, and nearly throwing him when he was
half-way up the rope-ladder. He therefore selected another animal. At
the place where we subsequently halted for breakfast it again got in a
passion whilst being bathed by the mahout, and, shrieking loudly,
rushed, with him luckily still on its back, into the forest, and it was
some time before it was brought under control. When at length we got
off, I walked back to the Wat to recommence the survey, whilst my
companions made a short cut, striking the route farther north. I left
the rice-plain at the Wat, and entered the small-tree forest. This
stunted forest was evidently the outcome of a few years, as the land
bore signs of being formerly under rice, little ridges dividing it into
fields, and small irrigating-canals intersected the path.
Near the village of Long Ka-mee-lek I noticed a _ta-lay-ow_ fixed upon a
tree, and under it a written order stating that as the elephants of the
Zimmé chief were grazing in that direction, no other elephants or oxen
were to pass that way. On asking the elephant-drivers the reason of the
order, they said that foot-and-mouth disease was raging amongst the
cattle in the country, and the order was to prevent the elephants of the
chief from incurring infection.
[Illustration:
_Hills to the north of the Zimmé plain from the Meh Teng._
]
These _ta-lay-ows_ are frequently placed, suspended from sticks, about
the paths leading to a camp, house, or village, so as to entangle any
evil spirit and prevent it from proceeding to perpetrate harm. They are
generally made of slips of bamboo plaited into an open lattice-work; but
where bamboos are not to be had, cane, or even twigs, take their place.
After passing two more villages, and a road leading westwards to Muang
Keut, distant about a day’s journey on the Meh Teng, I crossed that
river near the village of the same name, and halted to sketch the hills
and fix their position. The Meh Teng was 70 feet broad, 10 feet deep,
and had 2½ feet of water at our crossing, which was distant 21 miles
from Zimmé.
[Illustration:
_View of Loi Kiang Dow from the Meh Teng._
]
The panorama of hills stretching from north to west was magnificent.
Towering thousands of feet above the plain, they seemed to be the
remains of the great arm of a plateau separating the sources of the Meh
Teng from the upper waters of the Meh Ping. The plateau had been gashed
across by the hand of time, and now formed an intricate maze of
partially precipitous and apparently isolated hills. Six miles distant,
due north, was the great spur which once connected the plateau with Loi
Chaum Haut, and through which the Meh Ping has broken its way to the
Zimmé plain. Over the head of the spur, near its junction with the body
of the hill from whence it springs, appeared the precipitous head of Loi
Kiang Dow, here 16 miles distant. A little to the south of west a great
valley extended as far as the eye could reach, in which lie many ruined
cities, Ken Noi, Muang Hâng, Muang Kong, Muang Keut, and others whose
names are now forgotten.
The Meh Teng rises in Loi Ken Noi, a range of hills that, springing from
Loi Too-ey, stretches southwards, separating the affluents of the
Salween from those of the Meh Ping. The Meh Ping rises in the armpit
formed by the junction of these two hills, and its head is separated
from that of the Meh Teng by the broken chain of hills called _Loi Lin
Koo_, of which Loi Kiang Dow is the monarch, rising head and shoulders
above the rest.
[Illustration:
_View of hills north-west of the Zimmé plain from the Meh Teng._
]
Loi Too-ey is said to be the highest mountain in the country, and forms
part of the spinal range which divides the waters of the Meh Kong, or
Cambodia river, from those of the Salween. Just to the north of this
mountain a freak of nature has occurred, such as is frequent in Western
China and Indo-China,—the upper sources of the Meh Hang, which naturally
belong to the drainage of the Meh Ping, have percolated through a fault
in the great range of hills, and now find their way by an underground
passage into the Salween. Before this passage was made, the head-plains
of the Meh Hang formed the bottom of a great lake which was, and is
still partially, drained by the Hua Sai, a branch of the Meh Soom into
the Meh Ping.
Two ancient cities, Muang Hâng and Muang Teung, and several villages,
are situated in the old lake-basin which forms part of the British Shan
States; it is solely occupied by Burmese Shans, and was included in the
Burmese Shan States under the name of Muang Hâng. The upper parts of the
Meh Ping and Meh Teng valleys are likewise occupied and owned by Burmese
Shans, although claimed by the Zimmé Shans as part of their State; and I
was told that the possession of the basins of the Meh Pai and Meh Fang
is also a moot question and a subject of quarrel between our subjects
and those of the Siamese. These questions will have to be fixed by the
Boundary Commission appointed for demarcating our frontier with Siam.
Leaving the Meh Teng, we crossed a low plateau partially crowned with
teak-trees to the Meh Ping at a point where the river is contracted to
70 feet in breadth. Continuing through the teak-forest, we skirted the
Meh Ping, the hills on either side gradually drawing in, until at 28½
miles the defile commenced, the slopes of the spurs fringing both sides
of the river. Shortly afterwards we halted for the night, near a stream
of petrifying water, which had turned the gravel in the river-bed
opposite its mouth into a bank of conglomerate, and forced the river to
take a rectangular bend, cutting into the hill on the opposite bank.
Our camp was situated in a wild spot which appeared to be closed in by
hills on all sides. Many of the trees were giants of the forests, with
great buttresses springing out from the trunk several feet from the
ground; others were being slowly strangled by creepers of large girth,
which, twining round their trunks and branches like gigantic snakes,
sprang in great festoons and wreaths from tree to tree, making the
forest in places appear one vast tangle. The Rangoon creeper crested
some of the trees with its pretty flowers; and beautiful flowering
shrubs, creepers, and trees were in full blossom. From beneath the
branches of a great tree called _mai ngoon_, great semicircular beehives
were suspended, and the pegs that had been driven into its trunk to
serve as a ladder for the honey and wax collectors, looked like knots on
the tree, being overgrown and hidden by the sap. As the moon rose over
the hills, and shed its delusive beams amongst the trees and on the
water, the beauty of the scene raised one’s poetic fancies, and made one
nearly believe it the effect of enchantment.
The next morning we continued up the gorge, at times crossing and
recrossing the river. On passing the boundary between the provinces of
Kiang Dow and Muang Ken, which crossed the path at 32 miles, I noticed a
small wooden altar on which had been placed offerings of grass and
flowers. The boundary was marked by a rude gateway made of two posts
connected at the top by a narrow network of strings, under which the
elephants passed. On inquiry I learned that the network was intended to
entangle evil spirits proceeding along the path, and thus protect the
territory from demons coming to work harm from the neighbouring
province.
[Illustration:
_Loi Chaum Haut from Ban Meh Meh._
]
Just beyond 33 miles the hills retire, and the gorge ends near the
village of Ban Meh Kap. A mile farther we crossed an ancient Chinese
fortification called Viang Hau, consisting of two ditches one encircling
the other—about 40 feet broad, and from 10 to 15 feet deep—and an
intermediate rampart. A suburb of Ban Meh Meh is situated within the
enclosure. Shortly after passing through the fort we halted at the
temple of the main village for breakfast. Here I had a capital view of
the hills to the east which divide this portion of the Meh Ping from its
eastern branch, the Meh Ngat.
[Illustration:
_View of Loi Pa-Yat Pa-Yai._
]
To the north of the gap through which the road leads to Viang Pow (Pau)
is a great plateau, the crest of which is edged by a narrow range of
mural limestone cliffs called Loi Pa-Yat Pa-Yai, through which the Meh
Pam passes in a gap after draining the plateau lying between the Meh
Fang and the Meh Ping. To the south lies Loi Chaum Haut and its spurs,
and to the east of them the beautiful province of Viang Pow, which I
passed through on my return journey.
Whilst I was sketching the hills and fixing their positions, the
villagers came crowding round me, and peeped from all directions at the
picture I was making. When I had finished, I made the most of the
opportunity by getting the head-men into the temple to make a map of the
country with matches and bamboo strips on the floor. All were very
good-natured, and I learned from them the position of the sources of the
Meh Ping, Meh Teng, Meh Hang, Meh Pai, Meh Nium, Meh Pam, and other
streams. All were intent upon my having correct information, and various
villagers were sent for who had travelled in different parts of the
country. After I had finished the map, Dr M‘Gilvary asked the people to
listen quietly to him, and preached to them the glad tidings that the
world was ruled by a God of love, and that belief in Him would relieve
them from their gross fears and senseless superstitions.
In the afternoon we continued through the rice-plain for a couple of
miles, and then passing through the southern gate of the palisaded city
of Kiang Dow, entered the city, and shortly afterwards, turning to the
right, left the enclosure by the east gate, and camped for the night on
the bank of the Meh Ping.
A short distance before reaching the city, Dr M‘Gilvary noticed traces
of what he believed to be petroleum on the bank of a small stream. In
connection with this I may mention that Chow Rat, a first cousin of the
Queen of Zimmé, who was intrusted with the settlement of Muang Fang,
brought specimens of a black encrustation found in the district of Muang
Fang, which Dr M‘Gilvary forwarded to a professor of Davidson College,
North Carolina, who had it examined. It was pronounced to be indicative
of rich petroleum wells. If petroleum exists at Kiang Dow as well as in
Muang Fang, places 40 miles apart, the field is likely to be a large
one; and other fields may be found to exist on the line of our proposed
railway.