MENG-TING: A VILLAGE OF MANY TONGUES
During the eight days in which we remained at the "Good Hope" camp,
two hundred specimens comprising twenty-one species were added to our
collection. Although the altitude was still 5,000 feet, the flora was
quite unlike that of any region in which we had previously collected,
and that undoubtedly was responsible for the complete change of fauna.
We were on the very edge of the tropical belt which stretches along
the Tonking and Burma frontiers in the extreme south and west of the
province.
It was already mid-February and if we were to work in the
fever-stricken valleys below 2,000 feet, it was high time we were on
the way southward. The information which we had obtained near Gen-kang
had been supplemented by the natives of Mu-cheng, and we decided to go
to Meng-ting as soon as possible.
The first march was long and uneventful but at its end, from the summit
of a high ridge, we could see a wide valley which we reached in the
early morning of the second day. The narrow mountain trail abruptly
left us on a jutting promontory and wandered uncertainly down a steep
ravine to lose itself in a veritable forest of tree ferns and sword
grass. The slanting rays of the sun drew long golden paths into the
mysterious depths of the mist-filled valley. To the right a giant
sentinel peak of granite rose gaunt and naked from out the enveloping
sea of green which swelled away to the left in huge ascending billows.
We rested in our saddles until the faint tinkle of the bell on the
leading mule announced the approach of the caravan and then we
picked our way slowly down the steep trail between walls of tangled
vegetation. In an hour we were breathing the moist warm air of the
tropics and riding across a wide valley as level as a floor. The long
stretches of rank grass, far higher than our heads, were broken by
groves of feathery bamboos, banana palms, and splendid trees interlaced
with tangled vines.
Near the base of the mountains a Shan village nestled into the grass.
The bamboo houses, sheltered by trees and bushes, were roofed in the
shape of an overturned boat with thatch and the single street was wide
and clean. Could this really be China? Verily, it was a different China
from that we had seen before! It might be Burma, India, Java, but never
China!
Before the door of a tiny house sat a woman spinning. A real Priscilla,
somewhat strange in dress to be sure and with a mouth streaked with
betel nut, but Priscilla just the same. And in his proper place beside
her stood John Alden. A pair of loose, baggy trousers, hitched far up
over one leg to show the intricate tattoo designs beneath, a short
coat, and a white turban completed John's attire, but he grasped a gun
almost as ancient in design as that of his Pilgrim fathers. Priscilla
kept her eyes upon the spinning wheel, but John's gaze could by no
stretch of imagination be called ardent even before we appeared around
a corner of the house and the pretty picture resolved into its rightful
components--a surprised, but not unlovely Shan girl and a well-built,
yellow-skinned native who stared with wide brown eyes And open mouth at
what must have seemed to him the fancy of a disordered brain.
[Illustration: A Shan Village]
[Illustration: A Shan Woman Spinning]
For into his village, filled with immemorial peace and quiet, where
every day was exactly like the day before, had suddenly ridden two
big men with white skins and blue eyes, and a little one with lots of
hair beneath a broad sun helmet. And almost immediately the little
one had jumped from the horse and pointed a black box with a shiny
front at him and his Priscilla. At once, but without loss of dignity,
Priscilla vanished into the house, but John Alden stood his ground, for
a beautiful new tin can had been thrust into his hand and before he had
really discovered what it was the little person had smiled at him and
turned her attention to the charming street of his village. There the
great water buffaloes lazily chewed their cuds standing guard over the
tiny brown-skinned natives who played trustingly with the calves almost
beneath their feet.
Such was our invasion of the first Shan village we had ever seen, and
regretfully we rode away across the plain between the walls of waving
grass toward the Nam-ting River. Two canoes, each dug out of a single
log, and tightly bound together, formed the ferry, but the packs were
soon across the muddy stream and the mules were made to swim to the
other bank. Shortly after leaving the ferry we emerged from the vast
stretches of rank grass on to the open rice paddys which stretched
away in a gently undulating plain from the river to the mountains.
Strangely enough we saw no ducks or geese, but three great flocks of
cranes (probably _Grus communis_) rose from the fields and wheeled in
ever-widening spirals above our heads until they were lost in the blue
depths of the sky.
Away in the distance we saw a wooded knoll with a few wisps of smoke
curling above its summit, but not until we were well-nigh there did
we realize that its beautiful trees sheltered the thatched roofs of
Meng-ting. But this was only the "'residential section" of the village
and below the knoll on the opposite side of a shallow stream lay the
shops and markets.
We camped on a dry rice dyke where a fringe of jungle separated us from
the nearest house. As soon as the tents were up I announced our coming
to the mandarin and requested an interview at five o'clock. Wu and I
found the _yamen_ to be a large well-built house, delightfully cool
and exhibiting several foreign articles which evinced its proximity to
Burma.
We were received by a suave Chinese "secretary" who shortly introduced
the mandarin--a young Shan not more than twenty years old who only
recently had succeeded his late father as chief of the village. The boy
was dressed in an exceedingly long frock coat, rather green and frayed
about the elbows, which in combination with his otherwise typical
native dress gave him a most extraordinary appearance.
We soon discovered that the Chinese secretary who did all the talking
was the "power behind the throne." He accepted my gift of a package of
tea with great pleasure, but the information about hunting localities
for which we asked was not forthcoming. He first said that he knew of a
place where there were tiger and leopard, but that he did not dare to
reveal it to us for we might be killed by the wild animals and he would
be responsible for our deaths; bringing to his attention the fact
that tigers had never been recorded from the Meng-ting region did not
impress him in the slightest.
It did tend to send him off on another track, however, and he
next remarked that if he sent us to a place where the hunting was
disappointing we probably would report him to the district mandarin.
Assurances to the contrary had no effect. It was perfectly evident that
he wished only to get us out of his district and thus relieve himself
of the responsibility of our safety. During the conversation, which
lasted more than an hour, the young Shan was not consulted and did not
speak a word; he sat stolidly in his chair, hardly winking, and except
for the constant supply of cigarettes which passed between his fingers
there was no evidence that he even breathed.
The interview closed with assurances from the Chinaman that he would
make inquiries concerning hunting grounds and communicate with us in
the morning. We returned to camp and half an hour later a party of
natives arrived from the _yamen_ bearing about one hundred pounds of
rice, a sack of potatoes, two dozen eggs, three chickens, and a great
bundle of fire wood. These were deposited in front of our tent as gifts
from the mandarin.
We were at a loss to account for such generosity until Wu explained
that whenever a high official visited a village it was customary for
the mandarin to supply his entire party with food during their stay. It
would be quite polite to send back all except a few articles, however,
for the supplies were levied from the inhabitants of the town. We kept
the eggs and chickens, giving the _yamen_ "runners" considerably more
than their value in money, and they gratefully returned with the rice
and potatoes.
On the hill high above our camp was a large Shan Buddhist monastery,
bamboo walled and thatched with straw, and at sunset and daybreak a
musical chant of childish voices floated down to us in the mist-filled
valley. All day long tiny yellow-robed figures squatted on the mud
walls about the temple like a flock of birds peering at us with bright
round eyes. They were wild as hawks, these little priests and, although
they sometimes left the shelter of their temple walls, they never
ventured below the bushy hedge about our rice field.
In the village we saw them often, wandering about the streets or
sitting in yellow groups beneath the giant trees which threw a welcome
shade over almost every house. They were not all children, and finely
built youths or men so old that they seemed like wrinkled bits of lemon
peel, passed to and fro to the temple on the hill.
There is no dearth of priests, for every family in the village with
male children is required to send at least one boy to live a part of
his life under the tutelage of the Church. He must remain three years,
and longer, if he wishes. The priests are fed by the monastery, and
their clothing is not an important item of expenditure as it consists
merely of a straw hat and a yellow robe. They lead a lazy, worthless
life, and from their sojourn in religious circles they learn only
indolence and idleness.
The day following our arrival in Meng-ting the weekly market was held,
and when Wu and I crossed the little stream to the business part of the
village, we found ourselves in the midst of the most picturesque crowd
of natives it has ever been my fortune to see. It was a group flashing
with color, and every individual a study for an artist. There were
blue-clad Chinese, Shans with tattooed legs, turbans of pink or white,
and Burmans dressed in brilliant purple or green, Las, yellow-skinned
Lisos, flat-faced Palaungs, Was, and Kachins in black and red strung
about with beads or shells. Long swords hung from the shoulders of
those who did not carry a spear or gun, and the hilts of wicked looking
daggers peeped from beneath their sashes. Every man carried a weapon
ready for instant use.
Nine tribes were present in the market that day and almost as many
languages were being spoken. It was a veritable Babel and half the
trading was done by signs. The narrow street was choked with goods
of every kind spread out upon the ground: fruit, rice, cloth, nails,
knives, swords, hats, sandals, skins, horns, baskets, mats, crossbows,
arrows, pottery, tea, opium, and scores of other articles for food or
household use.
Dozens of natives were arriving and departing, bringing new goods or
packing up their purchases; under open, thatched pavilions were silent
groups of men gambling with cash or silver, and in the "tea houses"
white-faced natives lay stretched upon the couches rolling "pills" of
opium and oblivious to the constant stream of passers-by.
It was a picturesque, ever changing group, a kaleidoscopic mass of life
and color, where Chinese from civilized Canton drank, and gambled,
and smoked with wild natives from the hills or from the depths of
fever-stricken jungles.
After one glimpse of the picture in the market I dashed back to camp
to bring the "Lady of the Camera." On the way I met her, hot and
breathless, half coaxing, half driving three bewildered young priests
resplendent in yellow robes. All the morning she had been trying vainly
to photograph a priest and had discovered these splendid fellows when
all her color plates had been exposed. She might have succeeded in
bringing them to camp had I not arrived, but they suddenly lost courage
and rushed away with averted faces.
When the plate holders were all reloaded we hurried back to the market
followed by two coolies with the cameras. Leaving Yvette to do her work
alone I set up the cinematograph. Wu was with me and in less than a
minute the narrow space in front of us was packed with a seething mass
of natives. It was impossible to take a "street scene" for the "street"
had suddenly disappeared. Making a virtue of necessity I focused the
camera on the irregular line of heads and swung it back and forth
registering a variety of facial expressions which it would be hard to
duplicate. For some time it was impossible to bribe the natives to
stand even for a moment, but after one or two had conquered their fear
and been liberally rewarded, there was a rush for places. Wu asked
several of the natives who could speak Chinese if they knew what we
were doing but they all shook their heads. None of them had ever seen a
camera or a photograph.
The Kachin women were the most picturesque of all the tribes as well
as the most difficult to photograph. Yvette was not able to get them
at all, and I could do so only by strategy. When Wu discovered two
or three squatting near their baskets on the ground I moved slowly
up behind them keeping in the center of the crowd. After the "movie
camera" was in position Wu suddenly "shooed" back the spectators and
before the women realized what was happening they were registered on
twenty-five or thirty feet of film.
[Illustration: A Kachin Woman in the Market at Meng-ting]
[Illustration: One of Our Shan Hunters with Two Yellow Gibbons]
One of the Kachin men, who had drunk too much, suddenly became
belligerent when I pointed the camera in his direction, and rushed at
me with a drawn knife. I swung for his jaw with my right fist and he
went down in a heap. He was more surprised than hurt, I imagine, but it
took all of the fight out of him for he received no sympathy from the
spectators.
Poor Yvette had a difficult time with her camera operations and a less
determined person would have given up in despair. The natives were so
shy and suspicious that it was well-nigh impossible to bribe them to
stand for a second and it was only after three hours of aggravating
work in the stifling heat and dust that she at last succeeded in
exposing all her plates. Her patience and determination were really
wonderful and I am quite sure that I should not have obtained half her
results.
The Kachin women were extraordinary looking individuals. They were
short, and strongly built, with a mop of coarse hair cut straight all
around, and thick lips stained with betel nut. Their dress consisted of
a short black jacket and skirt reaching to the knees, and ornamented
with strings of beads and pieces of brass or silver. This tribe forms
the largest part of the population in northern Burma and also extends
into Assam. Yün-nan is fortunate in having comparatively few of them
along its western frontier for they are an uncivilized and quarrelsome
race and frequently give the British government considerable trouble.
There were only a few Burmans in the market although the border is
hardly a dozen miles to the west, but the girls were especially
attractive. Their bright pretty faces seemed always ready to break into
a smile and their graceful figures draped in brilliant sarongs were in
delightful contrast to the other, not over-dean, natives.
The Burma girls were not chewing betel nut, which added to their
distinction. The lips of virtually every other woman and man were
stained from the red juice, which is in universal use throughout India,
the Malay Peninsula, and the Netherlands Indies. In Yün-nan we first
noted it at the "Good Hope" camp, and the Shans are generally addicted
to the practice.
The permanent population of Meng-ting is entirely Shan, but during the
winter a good many Cantonese Chinamen come to gamble and buy opium. The
drug is smuggled across the border very easily and a lucrative trade
is carried on. It can be purchased for seventy-five cents (Mexican) an
ounce in Burma and sold for two dollars (Mexican) an ounce in Yün-nan
Fu and for ten dollars in Shanghai.
Opium is smoked publicly in all the tea houses. The drug is cooked
over an alcohol lamp and when the "pill" is properly prepared it is
placed in the tiny bowl of the pipe, held against the flame and the
smoke inhaled. The process is a rather complicated one and during it
the natives always recline. No visible effect is produced even after
smoking several pipefuls, but the deathly paleness and expressionless
eye marks the inveterate opium user.
There can be no doubt that the Chinese government has been, and is,
genuinely anxious to suppress the use of opium and it has succeeded to
a remarkable degree. We heard of only one instance of poppy growing in
Yün-nan and often met officials, accompanied by a guard of soldiers,
on inspection trips. Indeed, while we were in Meng-ting the district
mandarin arrived. We were sitting in our tents when the melodious
notes of deep-toned gongs floated in through the mist. They were like
the chimes of far away cathedral bells sounding nearer and louder, but
losing none of the sweetness. Soon a long line of soldiers appeared
and passed the camp bearing in their midst a covered chair. The
mandarin established himself in a spacious temple on the opposite side
of the village, where I visited him the following day and explained
the difficulty we had had at the Meng-ting _yamen_. He aided us so
effectually that all opposition to our plans ended and we obtained a
guide to take us to a hunting place on the Nam-ting River, three miles
from the Burma border.