LEAVE RAHENG—ISLANDS—ZIMMÉ SHANS IN RAHENG—SIAMESE WOMEN—MISLEADING
STRANGERS—“SOW” AND “RAT” POLITE TERMS—REACH KAMPHANG PET—SALUTED
WITH STONES—FOUND DEAD—BURMESE—VISIT THE GOVERNOR—THE
FLOOD—POPULATION—A FEMALE INTERPRETER—LEAVE KAMPHANG
PET—CULTIVATION—REACH PAK NAM PO—TOUNGTHOO PEDLARS—NAVIGATION ON THE
MEH NAM—LOOPLINE TO OOTARADIT—GAMBLING-HOUSE—A FRENCHIFIED
MONK—SKETCHING A BEARDED SIAMESE—SIZE OF THE DELTA—JOURNEY TO
BANGKOK—A LONG STREET OF VILLAGES—REACH BANGKOK.
[Illustration:
_Hand-dredge._
]
We left Raheng early in the morning of June 13th, and after forcing our
way through the double file of boats which lined the banks, passed the
fine plastered brick building, somewhat resembling Salween House at
Maulmain, where the governor resides, and halted to sketch the
south-eastern hills near Ban Ta Kare. A mile and a half farther I got a
capital view of the hillocks lying to the east of the city. Seven miles
from Raheng the villages forming its suburbs came to an end, and in the
next sixteen miles we saw only two small villages or hamlets.
The quicksand in the bed of the river during this stage of the journey,
and as far south as the junction of the Meh Ping with the Meh Nam, was a
constant cause of delay, as boat after boat had to dredge its way across
drifting sandbanks, which closed up as they passed. The hand-dredge used
consisted of a blade formed of a teak plank three and a half feet long
and one foot deep, with a handle rising two and a half feet above it.
One man pressed down the handle, and three or four others drew the blade
along by two pieces of cord fastened through holes near its end. The
remainder of the men of the three boats aided the action of the dredge
by loosening the sand with large teak-wood roofing shingles.
[Illustration:
_View of hills looking east at 218 miles from Ban Kow Nome Wan._
]
[Illustration:
_Sketch at 216½ miles from Ban Ta Kare._
]
Owing to the swift current and drifting sandbanks, the passage up-stream
is very tedious, and boats from Bangkok to Raheng take between thirty
and thirty-five days in the dry season. The river varies between 700 and
1000 feet in breadth; but at one place opposite a small hillock below
the revenue station of Dan Wung Chow, which is situated at the border of
Raheng with Kamphang, it is contracted for some distance to 400 feet.
Near here we halted for the night, having made 17 miles in the day.
The province of Raheng is mainly occupied by descendants of Zimmé Shans,
owing to its having formerly been part of the kingdom of Zimmé. Even in
the city, more than half the people are Zimmé Shans and Peguans. As we
proceeded southwards from Raheng, the daintily dressed Zimmé women, with
their neat coiffure and pleasant faces, rapidly gave place to slovenly
brazen-faced Siamese females, often made more repulsive by their
recently shaven heads being covered with short bristles. All of these
women whom we addressed on our way to Bangkok, asking the names of
villages or for other information, answered us cheekily, and never by
any chance digressed into the paths of truth. The men were but little
better; and we had frequently to inquire the name of a village from
half-a-dozen separate people before I considered it safe to enter it in
my field-book. My steersman seemed to enjoy the game, and constantly
hailed the women and small girls passing by in their little dugout
canoes, the women as _sow-ey_ and the girls as _rat-ey_—_sow_ being the
polite Siamese term for a woman, and _rat_ for a girl.
The following morning we continued for five miles through islands. Below
the last island the villages became more numerous, fringing both banks
for three miles out of the six to Kamphang Pet. Carts were seen in these
villages, the first we had encountered since we left Burmah: they were
remarkable for the size of their spoked wheels, which were fully six
feet in diameter. Just before reaching Kamphang Pet we halted for a few
minutes at Muang Ko, an extensive village on the opposite bank of the
river, built on the site of an ancient city. The village possesses a
fine temple and large pagoda. To the north of the village a stream
called Krong Suen Ma enters the river, down which much teak is floated
from the western hills.
Shortly after anchoring for the night at Kamphang Pet, whilst the boys
were preparing dinner in the gloaming, a shower of stones was flung at
the boat by some lads from the bank. All my men were quickly after them,
but failed to catch the urchins, who retreated but to return and salute
the boat in the same manner several times during the evening. As Veyloo
happened to be hurt by one of the missiles, and a fresh supply of ducks
and fowls was required, I determined to look up the governor before
starting the next morning. Ten of my fowls had died since we left Zimmé,
being found by the boys dead in the morning, and being considered unfit
for my consumption, had been eaten by the boatmen. Fowls are apt to die
a natural death, but rarely in such swift succession. I had been
rendered suspicious by seeing the eagerness with which the boatmen
besought Veyloo to give them a duck which had been found dead that
morning, instead of chucking it overboard, as he threatened to do. I
therefore told him to carefully skin it and see whether its neck had
been dislocated, and this was found to be the case. I had that duck for
breakfast, and need scarcely say no more fowls and ducks were _found_
dead during the journey.
Near the governor’s house I met Moung Byay, one of our Burmese subjects,
and his wife, and had a chat with them. After some talk, he said he
would be glad if I would come and put up with him for a day or two at
his house at Wung Pa Tat, when he could give me a good deal of
information about the country. I thanked him, and replied that I was
sorry I could not afford the time, and said I would be much obliged if
he would come and interpret for me at the governor’s. He told me that
the great flood of 1878 had risen ten and a half feet on his fields,
which lay about a gunshot to the west of the river. The country to the
east was higher, and the flood there was less than five feet in depth.
On reaching the governor’s, I found him in the company of half-a-dozen
of his head-men. He received me courteously, and appeared anxious to do
what he could for me. I told him of the reception my servants had met
with, and made Veyloo show him the scar on his shoulder. I said it was
the first incivility I had met in the country, and that such rowdyism
did not speak well for the government of his province. He was evidently
annoyed at the incident, and at once sent two of his officers to inquire
into the circumstances, and see whether the lads could be traced. I then
asked him about the flood, and he showed me the mark he had made on his
own house in order to register the height. It was four and a half feet
above the ground, and eighteen and a half feet above the water in the
river, which was at the time of my visit fourteen feet below the bank.
I said I should be much obliged if he would order some fowls and ducks
to be supplied to me at the market rate, as my supply was running short,
and I wished to continue my journey in the afternoon. He at once put
down four rupees on the mat before him, and each of the head-men put
down one, and a couple of officers were despatched to purchase the birds
and carry them to my boats. He assured me there were at least 3000
houses in the city—including the neighbouring suburbs Noung Palin, Muang
Kow, and Nong Ping—and fully 30,000 in his province. Elephants take
three days proceeding to Sukkhothai, and five days to Sawankalok on the
Meh Yom: there are no mountains on the way, and carts can be taken to
either place. During the conversation the wife of Moung Byay interpreted
for me, and did so in a most intelligent manner.
After thanking the governor and his officials, and refunding the money
they had given, I returned to the boats accompanied by the Burmese, who
said they would be glad to receive me as their guest if I happened to be
in the neighbourhood again. Having thanked them for their kindness, I
sketched the hills; and the men having brought the fowls and ducks, I
continued my journey, and halted for the night at Ban Wung Pone, close
to a house that had been erected for the local demons, and had four
yellow flags planted before it. The village lies 5 miles from the city
and 261 miles from Zimmé.
The next two days, proceeding leisurely, I halted at several temples, at
one of which I was presented with a stone head worthy of Grecian art;
and at another I saw many fine bronze images of Buddha, which had been
maliciously broken—perhaps when the Burmese invaded the country. Some of
the abbots I subsequently met gladly sold me several small images of
Buddha for a few two-anna and four-anna bits—equivalent to 2d. and 4d.
One of the pagodas—that at Ban Wung Ken—was remarkable on account of its
being ornamented with crockery plates four inches in diameter. This mode
of decoration must be Chinese in origin. One of the large pagodas in
Bangkok is similarly adorned. On the branches of a Mai Ma-kok tree near
the crockery pagoda, some enormous beehives were suspended about 70 feet
from the ground.
[Illustration:
_View looking west from Kamphang Pet._
]
[Illustration:
_Loi Kow Chung._
]
On the morning of the 18th I halted at Ban Bung Kay-ow to sketch a hill
of mural limestone about 2000 feet high, called Loi Kow Chung, which was
seen on end three miles to the south-east of the village; and shortly
afterwards passed some floating houses, resting upon rafts of bamboos,
and occupied by a band of strolling players. The women had their faces
daubed over with a ghastly white paste; and their fingers, as is the
habit with well-to-do Siamese females, covered with rings; and gold, or
most likely pinchbeck, chains thrown over their neck and shoulders.
[Illustration:
_Loi Kow Chung._
]
The amount of jewellery and gold and silver ornaments worn by wealthy
people in Siam—especially by women and children—is surprising. Children
of the rich wear heavy anklets and bracelets of gold, those of poorer
people of silver, and those of the poorest classes of brass. More often
than not, lads and lassies so bedecked have not a rag of clothing on
them. Clothes are not thought necessary for children in Siam until they
reach seven or eight years of age.
At Ban Ta Nyoo I sketched the front face of the limestone hill, and, 10
miles farther down-stream, Loi Kow Luong—the last great spur that
approaches the river from the western hills. Sugar-cane, rice, cotton,
and tobacco seemed to be the chief crops grown. The slopes of the
river-banks, where flat, were planted with tobacco, pumpkins, and
melons.
At Pak Nam Po, the town at the junction of the Meh Ping with the Meh
Nam, I met some Toungthoo pedlars from Thatone in Burmah, and halted for
an hour to enable the boys to replenish their larder. The water in the
Meh Ping, from Zimmé downwards, had seldom exceeded 2 feet in depth.
The Meh Nam below the junction has much more water in it, and large
boats are able to sail up the stream nearly to Phichai (Peechai), and
poling-boats can reach Ootaradit from Bangkok in twenty days. A steamer
drawing 4 or 5 feet, according to Mr Satow, might do the same journey in
four or five days. Above Ootaradit, owing to rapids in the bed, the Meh
Nam is only navigable for dugout canoes. Ootaradit is one of the termini
for the Chinese caravans from Yunnan, and might be connected with the
Siamese main line of railway by a loop-line from near Pak Nam Po,
rejoining the main line near Muang Ngow. It could likewise be connected
with a branch from Raheng, which would pass through Sawankalok and
Sukkhothai—the ancient capitals of Northern Siam.
[Illustration:
_Loi Kow Luong._
]
In the 84 miles between Kamphang Pet and Pak Nam Po, we passed
fifty-four villages—many of them of considerable size; and during the
whole of the journey from Kamphang Pet to Bangkok, we frequently heard
at night reports of firearms from boats anchored near us, and on inquiry
I learnt they were fired off to scare the pirates—bands of whom are said
to infest the river. There are no river-police above Bangkok; the
boatmen, therefore, have to carry arms to defend their cargoes. The
policy of the Government seems to be to squeeze as much as they can out
of the people, and to leave them a prey to the officials and to pirates;
the officials, indeed, are said generally to be in league with the
pirates, and to share the plunder with them.
[Illustration:
_View from the junction of the Meh Nam._
]
When walking through Pak Nam Po, I had my attention drawn to the
gambling-house by the band playing within its precincts and by the crowd
in its neighbourhood. Whilst watching the gamblers, in order to
comprehend the method of the game, a man at my side addressed me in
Siamese. On turning, I found he was a young man dressed in the yellow
robe of the monks, but wearing an imperial beard and small twisted-up
moustaches after the French fashion. I addressed him in French, thinking
he was a French half-breed from Cochin China spying out the land in
disguise, who had not had the heart to sacrifice his personal appearance
beyond shaving his crown, but merely got a blank expression and some
more words of Siamese. Not even a tell-tale shrug could I get out of
him. If he was a Siamese monk, he was the only one that I ever saw so
adorned.
Some of the Shan and Siamese laity neglect to pluck out their beards and
moustaches; and I had an amusing interview with one of these hairy-faced
men at Nakhon Sawan—a city about two miles below the junction of the Meh
Nam. Whilst rambling about the place, I noticed a man with his hair
parted in the middle, and with well-grown whiskers, beard, and
moustaches, amongst the crowd of gazers who were accompanying me. I at
once stopped to take his likeness, and, for fear he should bolt, kept
him within 18 inches of me whilst I completed the sketch. The crowd
formed a ring round us, nearly splitting their sides with laughter at
one bearded man staring intently at and sketching another, and
incessantly chaffing my victim.
Below Pak Nam Po the villages become more numerous, frequently lining
one or the other or both sides of the river. For 55 miles below Muang
In, and for 25 miles above Bangkok, the string of towns and villages on
each side of the river may be said to be conterminous—one long street of
houses. Nearly the whole population of the delta, which is about 130
miles long by an average of 50 miles broad, reside on the banks of the
main river and its affluents.
Pak Nam Po is 338½ miles from Zimmé, and 204½ miles from the king’s
palace in Bangkok—the distance between Zimmé and the palace being 543
miles. The river for 173 miles from Pak Nam Po varied in width from 600
feet to 900 feet, and from thence to Bangkok was seldom more than 1000
feet in breadth. I reached Bangkok on June 28th, and put up in the
hotel, where the manager did the utmost for my comfort and that of my
servants. In fact, Veyloo was so pleased with hotel life that he
subsequently took service with the manager.