APATHY OF SIAMESE OFFICIALS—PROPOSAL TO SURVEY PASSES BETWEEN SIAM
AND BURMAH—MR WEBSTER’S OFFER—PREPARATIONS FOR BOAT-JOURNEY TO
BANGKOK—BOATS AND CREW—KINDNESS OF MISSIONARIES—LEAVE
ZIMMÉ—NUMBER OF VILLAGES—SHAN EMBROIDERIES—BUYING PETTICOATS—AN
EVENING BATH—SHAMELESS WOMEN—PREPARING FOR THE RAPIDS—MORE
BARGAINS—SCRAMBLING FOR BEADS—ENTER THE DEFILE—MAGNIFICENT
SCENERY—GEOLOGICAL CHANGES—UNDERGROUND RIVERS—SUBSIDENCE AND
PERIODS OF UNREST—AN EARTHQUAKE-BELT—LIMESTONE CLIFFS—A CHINESE
SMUGGLER—ROPED DOWN THE RAPIDS—PICTURESQUE CLIFFS—PRECIPICES A
MILE HIGH—A WATERFALL—THREE PAGODAS—OFFERINGS TO DEMONS—SPIRITS
OF THE JUNGLE—FORMING SPIRIT-CLANS—ALLURING TRAVELLERS TO
DEATH—LASCIVIOUS SPIRITS—M‘LEOD’S ROUTE—SHOOTING DANGEROUS
RAPIDS—KAMOOK LUMBER-MEN—THE PILLAR-ROCK—PASS TO BAN MEH
PIK—SKETCHING THE GOVERNOR—PATH TO MAULMAIN—SEARCHING FOR
RUBIES—A SAMBHUR DEER—LEAVE THE DEFILES—ENTRANCE OF THE MEH
WUNG—PATHS FOR THE RAILWAY—SILVER-MINES—REACH RAHENG.
Before leaving Zimmé I made a round of calls to thank the Shan princes
and the missionaries for rendering my visit so pleasant, and for their
kindness in collecting and giving me information about the trade and the
country. Every one, with the exception of the Siamese authorities, had
shown themselves eager in making my explorations a success; and even the
Siamese commissioner, although apparently too indolent to interest
himself in my doings, had certainly thrown no hindrance in my path, and
was as communicative and truthful as I had been led to expect before
leaving Burmah.
By noon on May 31st everything was in the boats, and the missionaries
came to see me off and hand me their mail for Bangkok. Mr Webster
assured me that if I determined to zigzag across the various passes over
the hills which divide Raheng and Zimmé from the British frontier,
during the next dry season, he would gladly be of the party, and would
be useful in communicating with the Karen villagers who inhabited that
region. To this I gladly consented, on the understanding that the
exploration would not be carried out unless I could collect sufficient
funds for the purpose—which I am sorry to say I was unable to do.
The boats were mat-roofed and flat-bottomed, and about 40 feet long by 6
feet broad. The one occupied by me had a good-sized room at the stern,
in which I could stand up and look over the lower roof which sheltered
the rowers. Under the floor, which was constructed of movable planks,
was placed part of the baggage and some cargo that the boatmen were
carrying down as a private speculation. In the other boat were the boys
and the remainder of the baggage. Part of the stern of this boat was
used as a kitchen; I was therefore not afflicted with the smell of the
cooking, and my boat was not inconveniently crowded.
Each crew consisted of a steersman and four rowers, and a Chinaman
accompanied us in a similar-sized boat: the three crews were thus able
to help in dragging each boat in sequence over the rocks, and in
slackening its progress by hauling on to ropes when passing down the
worst of the rapids. Before leaving, I procured a list of sentences in
Shan and English that would be useful to me on the journey, and Dr
M‘Gilvary and Mr Martin secured for me a most intelligent _paynim_ or
steersman, who had frequently made the journeys with missionaries, and
was therefore well aware of the ways and requirements of Europeans.
Mrs M‘Gilvary, Mrs Martin, and Mrs Peoples vied with each other as to
who should provide me with the choicest delicacies for consumption on
the journey, and the young ladies supplied me with light literature for
my idle moments. It is not surprising that, after experiencing such
constant kindness from the Americans in Zimmé, I determined, if I could
get Mr Colquhoun to accompany me, to return home through America, and
spend three or four months in travelling about in that country.
In the afternoon of June 3d we reached Muang Haut, which lies 82 miles
from Zimmé, and is the village where I exchanged elephants for boats on
my journey to Zimmé. On the way between Zimmé and Muang Haut, I passed
and took the names of fifty-nine villages. Twenty-five of these lie
between Zimmé and the mouth of the Meh Hkuang, the villages bordering
that part of the river being nearly conterminous; other villages were
hidden from view by the long, low-lying, orchard-clad islands, which are
numerous for some miles below the city.
We passed Muang Haut, and halted for the night at Ban Nyang, a Karen
village situated on the west bank, 84½ miles from Zimmé. For 24 miles
below Ban Nyang the river continues very tortuous in its course—cliffs
of sand and rounded gravel, remains of the old lake-bottom, occasionally
skirting the river on either hand. Leaving early the next morning, we
continued down the river, which is beautifully wooded on either bank
with great clumps of plumed bamboos, which seem to grow to perfection in
the neighbourhood, owing perhaps to the heavy mists which rise from the
river, and passing Nong Poom, a suburb of Ban Nang En, we stopped for
breakfast at the main village.
Ban Nang En, the village where the body of the levanting princess was
washed ashore after her bold leap with her lover from the cliff at
Pa-kin-soo, with its suburbs contained seventy-four houses. In wandering
through the village, noticing the beautifully embroidered skirts worn by
the women, I told my steersman to call the women together and let them
know that I wished to purchase some of their handiwork. Soon the shore
was thronged by people, some with new garments, and others carrying one
just stripped from their person and replaced by one of a plainer nature.
The designs would have done credit to the best of our art schools at
home, and the colours were blended and chosen with exquisite taste. On
showing specimens of the skirts to Mr Helm of Manchester, he was much
struck with their beauty, and after looking at the texture of the
skirts, which were made in three pieces, through a magnifying-glass,
said that the top piece was of English manufacture and the two lower
portions by native looms. The prices asked were so low, and the
embroidery so extensive and so carefully done, that the women could have
earned barely a shilling for a fortnight’s work. I therefore presume
that the embroidery is carried on in spare moments as a labour of love,
like the fancy-work that employs the fingers of our young ladies at
home, and is not expected in any other way to repay the labour expended
upon it. Some were worked with silk, some with cotton, some with wools,
and others with gold and silver threads, the latter being naturally the
most expensive.
[Illustration:
MAUNG HAUT TO RAHENG.
]
After passing four more villages, two of which were suburbs of Ban Nang
En, we came to Ban Ta Doo-er, a village on the east bank, 100 miles from
Zimmé, where the road from Muang Li crosses the river at a ford. Here
two streams, the Meh Tan and the Meh Yee-ep, enter the river from the
east, near a great cliff of sand and sandstone which skirts the river on
the same bank for about a mile down-stream. After passing three more
villages, a great tree-clad spur from the Bau plateau, called Loi Kern,
was seen extending close to the west bank near Ban Chang, a village
built on both sides of the river, where we camped for the night.
Whilst sitting in my arm-chair enjoying a smoke after my bath, and
waiting for dinner to be served, the young women of the village came
trooping down to the river to fetch water for household purposes; and
afterwards returned chattering and laughing, and, to my consternation,
in a twinkling disrobed themselves within a few yards of my chair, and
skurried into the water like so many young ducks. I thus gained absolute
proof that some at least of the Zimmé Shans wear clothing solely for the
sake of warmth, and are as devoid of shame as Adam and Eve were in
Paradise.
Beyond the village the Meh Hat enters from the east, and 2½ miles below
the village the Meh Lai joins the river from the west. The latter stream
has its source close to that of the Meh Teun, and drains the great bay
of country lying between Loi Kern and Loi Hin Poon, the latter hill
forming part of the great broken limestone plateau through which the
river passes, tumbling down numerous rapids in a deep cliff-bound gorge
to the great plain of Siam.
Ban Meut Kha, the frontier village of Zimmé on the west bank of the
river, which lies immediately to the south of the Meh Lai and 109 miles
from Zimmé, contained fifty houses. Whilst I was at this village
sketching the north entrance of the gorge, and waiting for the pilots
who were to steer our boats through the gorge, and to fix great bamboo
fenders on either side of the boats, in order to increase their buoyancy
and save them from injury during the passage, my steersman, thinking I
might require some more embroideries, and perhaps with the hope of
taking toll from the women, wandered through the village advising the
people to hurry to me with any garments that they had for sale. In a few
minutes my boat was stormed by the female population, and even when
starting, fresh relays were so anxious to secure a purchaser that my men
had actually to hustle them out of the boat. I, however, partly
compensated those who were disappointed by distributing the remainder of
my beads and bead necklaces amongst them. It was as good as a play to
see the scramble as I threw them on the bank.
A mile down-stream on the east bank of the river is the village of New
Htow, below which the Huay Kay-Yow enters from the east, after draining
the north-eastern portion of the great plateau through which we were
about to thread our way. As we proceeded, spurs from the hills on either
side began to approach, occasionally ending with bluffs at the edge of
the stream, the rock exposed in some of their faces appearing more like
trap than limestone, the strata being much contorted and veined with
quartz.
Just before the first rapid, which occurs at 113½ miles, a great rock
pierced by two flat-arched caverns juts up from the bed of the stream;
and a little farther a spur, Loi Hin Poon, ends in a bluff 60 feet high,
which has its face riddled with caves and adorned with stalactites.
After passing the second rapid the scenery becomes bold, and great
precipices of mural limestone, with their red and black mottled faces
beautified by lichens, mosses, and stalactites, occasionally are seen on
either side. A mile farther the defile may be said to commence, the
hills coming to the bank on either side, and on the west rising sheer
from the river’s edge in precipices 1000 feet high; similar cliffs soon
afterwards skirt the river on the east.
Beyond Loi Panya Lawa, the hill of the Lawa chief, is a bold bluff with
a face strongly resembling a gigantic sphinx. This cliff lies on the
west of the river, and its face for some distance has been scooped out
at the foot for 15 and 20 feet in width by the action of the strong
current. The precipice on the opposite bank resembles a gigantic Norman
castle with rounded towers jutting out from its face. The strata in
these cliffs are pitched up vertically, as though they had been bodily
turned over on their side.
Beyond the castle-cliff the precipice on the west bank changes its
aspect, and looks as though it had been punched up or telescoped from
below, one precipice rising above another, and another above it, with a
slope at the foot of each, appearing as if before the subsidence of the
tiers the slopes had been continuous.
There can be no doubt that the great ravine has been caused by sinkage
into caverns and underground passages worn out by water, the hills
subsiding into them during a period of violent earth-action. An
earthquake-belt extends right up the Malay Peninsula through Burmah and
Siam into Yunnan and Szechuen. The whole region is still in a period of
unrest, as is evidenced by the numerous hot springs passed by
travellers, and the earthquakes which frequently occur in this region.
We halted for the night at the hamlet of Ban Kau, which is situated 123
miles from Zimmé, in a small valley which is drained by the Huay Kau.
The precipice facing the village was grotto-worked by the action of the
lime-water, the grottoes overhanging in great masses giving the cliffs a
honeycombed appearance.
At Ban Kau the river makes a westerly bend for 4 miles, and then
continues nearly due south for 19 miles, until it is joined by the Meh
Teun.
The next morning we passed six rapids before we reached Ban Sa-lee-am,
the last Ping Shan village on the river. Below it the river-banks are
under the direct control of Siam.
Soon after leaving the village we halted for breakfast at a barrier of
rocks 6 feet high, through which a passage had been made for boat
traffic. Here I noticed slate and shale outcropping from the bank and
forming the base of the mural limestone, which was much veined with
quartz. The cliff on the east of the river below the barrier rises about
600 feet, and is known as Loi Pa May-yow, the Cliff of the Cat. Its name
is derived from the great mottled patches of lichen on its face
representing figures of cats, tigers, and other animals to people with a
fertile imagination.
Between the barrier and Loi Chang Hong, three rapids are passed. Down
the last, boat after boat was let down by a rope, the crews of my boats
and of that belonging to the enterprising Chinese smuggler who had
attached himself to our party in the hope of escaping the custom-houses
on the river, tugging at the rope to check the speed of the boat.
Loi Chang Hong is remarkable for its castellated appearance, three grand
semicircular buttresses and one of smaller diameter rising 1200 to 1500
feet from the edge of the river. Near the top of the precipice is a
great cave about 100 feet high, and on the opposite bank the cliff
protrudes for some distance over the stream.
The scenery in the neighbourhood is the boldest and most beautiful in
its grandeur that I have ever seen. The cliffs are tinted with red,
orange, and dark-grey. Great stalactites stand out and droop in clusters
from their face, whilst their summit is crowned by large trees, which,
dwarfed by the distance, appear smaller and smaller as the depth of the
defile increases. Pale puffball-shaped yellow blossoms of a stunted tree
like a willow, shed their fragrance from the banks, where small bays are
formed by streams conveying the drainage of the country. Beautiful
grottoes have been fretted out by the current near the foot of the
cliffs, and are covered with moss and ferns which drip drops of the
clearest water from every spray.
The cliffs on the west bank are here 3000 feet high, and rise in great
telescoped precipices. At 141 miles the hill on the west retires,
leaving a narrow plain for about a mile. On the opposite side of the
river, the cliff towers up seemingly to more than a mile in height, the
trees on its summit looking like small bushes from the boat. This great
precipice is named Loi Keng Soi, and from a chink in its face a
waterfall comes leaping and dashing down. Its last great leap is a sheer
descent of 500 feet. A short distance beyond the waterfall, far up the
cliff, the figure of a gigantic horse is seen standing in a natural
niche. When it was sculptured and by whom, tradition fails to tell.
On the west bank of the river, near the end of the cliff where the hill
retires and forms a small valley, is a pagoda, and two others are seen
cresting the low part of the next hill, which gradually rises into a
great cliff near the thirteenth and fourteenth rapids, down which we had
to be roped. This cliff is surmounted by three ear-like pinnacles: 2000
feet of rock had lately fallen into the river from the face of the
precipice on the opposite bank.
Before leaving the pagodas the boatmen went off in a body to make their
offerings and worship. The demons in the defile are evidently much
dreaded by the Shans, for at our various halting-places offerings,
accompanied by lighted tapers and libations, were habitually made to the
local demons before the men ate their meals.
It is no wonder that the deep ravines of this great defile are full of
terrifying potentialities to people ridden by such nightmare
superstitions as are believed in by the Shans. Such places, according to
them, are infested by _Pee Pa_ or jungle demons, the spirits of human
beings who have died when absent from their homes. These endeavour to
cause the death of others by the same means as caused their own. Their
victims have to join the company or clan of demons to which the
successful demon belongs. Thus the clan increases in numbers, and is
ever becoming more potent for mischief.
The way in which the _Pee Pa_ allure travellers to their death varies
according to their tribe. The _Pee Pok-ka-long_ cause deep sleep to fall
upon weary travellers, and then lead tigers to kill them. At other times
they allure them to a tiger’s den by imitating a human voice. Or they
enter the body of a wild pig, stag, or even a reptile, and entice the
traveller to follow them to meet his death. The _Pee Ta-Moi_ have power
over the atmosphere, and cause sudden darkness in order to force a
traveller to camp in a dangerous locality infested by wild beasts. The
_Pee Ee-Koi_ produce fever with their breath.
[Illustration:
_Pee Pok-ka-long (jungle demons)._
]
The _Pee Song Nang_,[23] who are more feared than the other _Pee Pa_,
are the spirits of two dissolute princesses, who, after leaving their
father’s palace on the sly, were lost in the forest, and perished. These
spirits, like those in the spell-bound forest in Milton’s “Comus,” have
“Many baits and guileful spells
T’ inveigle and invite the unwary sense
Of them that pass unweeting by the way.”
Should travellers succumb to their wiles, they die on the instant, and
become for ever their companions. These spirits assume such beautiful
faces and figures, such winning ways, and such melodious voices, that it
is said no man within their influence can withstand them. Great
precautions are therefore taken to keep them at a distance. In every
path leading to our camping-places, figures made of twisted twigs or
bamboos were set up so as to delude these lascivious spirits and keep
them at a distance. Other offerings are made to the rest of the jungle
demons, varying according to the supposed inclinations of the spirits.
The next morning we reached the mouth of the Meh Teun, which drains an
area of country 55 miles long and 15 miles broad, lying between the Meh
Ping and the crest of the range which separates the affluents of the
Salween from those of the Meh Nam, and forms the spinal range of the
Malay Peninsula. This stream was followed by M‘Leod for some distance
when on his return from Zimmé to Maulmain in 1837. From the junction of
the Meh Teun the Meh Ping trends in a north-easterly direction for 5
miles, and then runs nearly due east to 159½ miles, when it again turns
to the south.
Close to the mouth of the stream is the fifteenth rapid. Some distance
beyond it the river is contracted by two great rocks protruding from the
west bank, and another from the east bank, which must at one time have
extended across the stream, and formed a formidable barrier to boat
traffic. This barrier is known as Vin-a-tum.
A short distance farther another rapid occurs at the entrance of the
most dangerous part of the defile, which is here formed by Loi Teun on
the south and Loi Ap Nang on the north. The bold red-coloured
precipitous face of the latter hill has been cut into for a depth of
about 30 feet by the fierce current of the next rapid.
The boatmen were here seen at their best. The pilot and the steersman
both laid hold of the long broad oar that formed the rudder, and the
other men held long bamboos to prevent the boat from dashing against the
side as we rushed under and alongside the overhanging cliff. The seven
minutes taken in descending this rapid must have carried us more than a
mile, and the sensation was exhilarating and delightful. The slightest
mistake on the part of the steersmen would have brought us to grief.
At the next rapid the cliffs on either side rose 3000 feet above the
river, and the section of their summits so perfectly resembled each
other that they looked as if they had only lately been rent apart.
After dashing down four more rapids, and being roped down the next one,
we halted for breakfast where the river widens, near an island, to 1000
feet. Here the hills on both sides retreat for a time, and I noticed
granite outcropping in the stream-bed, and forming the base of the
limestone. Just below the island, which is called Song Kweh, is a very
long rapid, down which we were roped; a passage had been made by heaping
the boulders on the sides.
The next rapid lies a short distance above Ban Soop Tau, a long house
inhabited by some Kamook foresters. Trusting solely to the current and
our steersmen and the men with bamboos, we rushed along at railroad
speed for three-quarters of a mile, doing the distance in four minutes.
After passing the house, which is situated 154 miles from Zimmé, we saw
many teak-logs floating down the stream, and some Kamooks on elephants
who were engaged in keeping the logs from stranding on the boulders, and
edging them off when they did so.
[Illustration:
_Loi Pa Khun Bait._
]
A little farther we came to another rapid below which the hills again
closed in—the one on the left afterwards retiring at a hamlet near the
twenty-seventh rapid, the last that needed the use of the rope. The boat
was allowed to rush along the edge of the cliff at the next one, at such
a pace as to make me clench my teeth and bite through the cigar I was
smoking.
Three miles farther the hill on the left again closed in, and we entered
a defile and descended through rough water over a rapid that looked like
a chopping sea. A mile farther we halted for the night in a bay of the
hills close to the foot of Loi Pa Khun Bait—a pillar-rock about 250 feet
high that rises from the foot of a hill near the east bank of the river.
The hills had latterly become less precipitous, and the defile ended
near the traveller’s rest-house called Sala Bau Lome. The river had
latterly varied from 300 feet to 120 feet in breadth.
A mile from the gorge some palmyra-trees on the west bank mark the site
of a former village, and soon afterwards the pilots left us to conduct
some boats up-stream. The valley between the last gorge and the next one
is about 13 miles long and of considerable breadth. It is bounded on the
east by the Loi Pa Kha range, and on the west by a bold plateau-topped
range of hills known as Loi Luong, which separates the southern branch
of the Meh Tuen from the Meh Ping.
[Illustration:
_Extremity of spur from the west range._
]
After shooting two small rapids, and passing a couple of small villages
situated on the west bank, we halted for breakfast near a great spur
from the western range. This spur appears to be more than half a mile
high, and precipitous near the end, where a great cave is seen high up
in the cliff. I sketched the end of the spur from the foot of the
eastern hills, which had now come to the river.
Two miles beyond the spur we reached the village of Soom Cha, whence
there is a pass across the eastern hills to Ban Meh Pik, a village near
the Meh Wung, through which roads lead to Zimmé and Lakon. Soom Cha is
situated on the east bank of the river, and contained fifteen houses,
besides a temple and pagoda, of the ordinary Shan type. Three miles
farther we halted for a couple of hours at Ban Nah, which, with its
suburb Ban Ta Doo-a, contained 135 houses.
On calling at the house of the Keh Ban, or head-man of the village, to
get information, I was told that he had gone to the temple to worship.
Following him there, I found him squatting on his heels before a
wretched collection of images, holding up with both hands a brass tray
with lighted tapers round its rim containing his offering. There he sat,
without looking round or even moving, and had most likely hurried to the
temple and turned himself into a worshipper on seeing my boats approach
the landing, so as to avoid giving me any information. Suspecting this,
I waited until I was tired of waiting, and then, seeing him still rooted
to the spot, took out my pencil and made a sketch of him and the images;
after doing which, I returned to the boat.
Ban Nah is situated on both sides of the river, the main body of the
village and its suburb being on the west bank. From the village the path
leaves for Maulmain, which was traversed by M‘Leod on his return journey
in 1837.
Two miles below Ban Nah we entered the last defile which severs the Loi
Pa Kha range from Loi Wung Ka Chow, and is 4 miles long, ending at a
ford called Ta Pwee, where there is a pagoda near the exit of the gorge
on the western hill. Half-way through the defile the boatmen asked for
leave to land, as they wished to search for rubies in a hill called Kow
Sau Kyow on the west bank of the river, where, they told me, valuable
gems were sometimes found. After scraping at the gritty ground for half
an hour, they brought me a few small—very small—pebbles to look at,
which looked more like garnets than rubies. Soon afterwards we camped
for the night. Whilst I was enjoying my bath, a large sambhur deer swam
leisurely across the river about 1000 feet from the boat, whilst my boys
and the Chinaman were taking long and fruitless shots at it.
[Illustration:
_Sketch at 188½ miles from Ban Pah Yang Neur._
]
The next morning, 2 miles beyond the mouth of the gorge, I noticed a low
plateau-topped, red-coloured bluff near the west bank, with three niches
or caverns in its face, with a scaffolding along the entrances, and a
ladder leading up to it. These caves formed the temples of a village of
twelve houses which was situated to the south of the hill. After passing
three more hamlets containing together between thirty and forty houses,
from one of which—Ban Pah Yang Neur—I sketched the exit of the gorge, we
reached the mouth of the Meh Wung, which is situated about 193½ miles
from Zimmé.
This is the river along which the railway would proceed to Lakon.
Another line could be made from near its mouth, proceeding through a
short gorge near the source of the Meh Phit and the silver-mines to
Muang Li, and thence to Zimmé, and from thence through Muang Ngai and
Muang Fang, to join the main line at Ban Meh Chun in the Kiang Hsen
plain.
Three miles beyond the village, at the mouth of the Meh Wung, I halted
at Ban Meh Nyah on the western bank to sketch the hills lying to the
east of the Meh Wung. From Ban Meh Nyah onwards, the villages are
continuous on the west bank as far as a small hillock called Loi Dee-at
Ha, which juts up from the plain at 206 miles, and is faced on the east
bank by Loi Meh Pah Neh—a hillock shaped like a great letter =∟=, one
limb of which skirts the river for a mile and a half.
[Illustration:
_Sketch at 196½ miles from Ban Meh Nyah._
]
For six miles above Loi Meh Pa Neh the east bank is likewise lined with
houses, imbedded, as is usual in Siam and its Shan States, in beautiful
gardens containing palms, mangoes, tamarinds, and other trees. We halted
for the night near a building erected on piles over the water at Ban
Tat, for the monks of the neighbouring temple to repeat, at the time of
the full and new moons, the ritual appointed to cleanse them from their
sins, which, if report is to be believed, are by no means few.
From Ban Tat I sketched Loi Luong Sam Huay—the great hill-spur which
juts out from the western hills, ending nearly due west of Raheng, and
separates the Meh Tak from the Meh Tau. It is by this spur that the
railway from Maulmain to Raheng would gradually descend from the crest
of the pass over the spinal range which separates the drainage of the
Salween river from that of the Meh Ping. The direction of the spur for
some miles is due east and west, and it seems—particularly on its
southern side—eminently fitted for the easy development of a railway to
the pass. The pass is only 2400 feet above the level of the sea, or
about 2000 feet above Raheng, and only 1770 feet above the bank of the
Thoungyeen river at our frontier, which lies only 37 miles to the west
of Raheng.
When the country through which this portion of the line will run is
fully explored and accurately surveyed and levelled, it will probably be
found that both the distance and estimated cost given by Mr Colquhoun
and myself in our Report to the Government and the Chambers of Commerce,
is considerably in excess of what will actually be required; because, in
estimating this portion of the railway, we have assumed a length of 80
miles, or more than double the direct distance, and for 53 miles of the
length have allowed about double the amount per mile that railways have
cost in Burmah.
From Ban Tat we proceeded leisurely, stopping at several of the
villages, to Raheng. The city and its straggling suburbs—some 10 miles
in length—are beautifully wooded, lining the banks from 212 to 222
miles. The villages on the west bank are smaller and farther apart than
those on the east bank, on which the city is built.
We halted at 215 miles, about half a mile above the house of the
governor, opposite the house of Mr Stevens—an English pleader who had
been for some years in the country, and is concerned in the timber
trade.