[Illustration: SIAM AND LAOS]
[Illustration: HIS SUPREME MAJESTY, CHULALANGKORN I., KING OF SIAM.
_Frontispiece._]
SIAM AND LAOS,
AS SEEN BY
OUR AMERICAN MISSIONARIES.
“Siam has not been disciplined by English and French guns, like China,
but the country has been opened by missionaries.”――_Remark of His
Grace the late Ex-Regent of Siam._
FULLY ILLUSTRATED.
PHILADELPHIA:
PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION,
No. 1334 CHESTNUT STREET.
COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY
THE TRUSTEES OF THE
PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION.
_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED._
WESTCOTT & THOMSON,
_Stereotypers and Electrotypers, Philada._
PREFACE.
This volume is a response to calls for information on Siam and Laos. A
score of missionaries have contributed chapters. Some have written
amidst conflicting claims of the crowded field-life; others, during
brief visits to the home-land; several are children of missionaries
and were born in Indo-China; others are noble pioneer workers, whose
long years of service abroad are now ended. A few of the chapters
originally appeared in a missionary periodical. Two of the writers
have “entered into rest.” The editor is much indebted also to the
standard works of Pallegoix, Bowring, Crawford, Mouhot and several
more recent travelers, to geographical papers and official reports,
and to valuable original data furnished by Dr. House, Dr. Cheek and
others.
Adaptation and necessary condensation of the information thus gathered
make special credit often impossible, but doubtful points have been
verified by reference to competent authority, so far as practicable.
The contributions of our missionaries have special value. For years
they have been brought into close contact with the people in their
homes, schools, wats and markets, mingling as honored guests in social
gatherings and at official ceremonials, enjoying full opportunity of
studying the natives at work, at play and at worship. As teachers,
physicians, translators and trusted counselors they are recognized as
public benefactors by the king and many high officials. Siam owes the
introduction of printing, European literature, vaccination, modern
medical practice, surgery and many useful mechanical appliances to our
American missionaries. They have stimulated philosophical inquiry,
paved the way for foreign intercourse with civilized nations, given a
great shock to the grosser forms of idolatry among the more
enlightened, leavened the social and intellectual ideas of the “Young
Siam” party, and, almost imperceptibly, but steadily, undermined the
old hopeless Buddhist theories with the regenerating force of gospel
truth.
The young king publicly testified on a late occasion: “The American
missionaries have lived in Siam a long time; they have been noble men
and women, and have put their hearts into teaching the people, old and
young, that which is good, and also various arts beneficial to my
kingdom and people. Long may they live, and never may they leave us!”
May this volume aid in arousing a more intelligent and generous
interest in this field――the sacred trust of our American Presbyterian
Church; may it promote a truer sense of the heroic sacrifices, the
patient and multiplied labors, of the noble band who for the past half
century have toiled and waited in hope for the spiritual regeneration
of the Siamese and Laos!
SCHENECTADY, May, 1884.
N. B. Uniformity in the spelling of Siamese and Laos proper
names is not yet attainable. Different ears catch the
foreign sounds and transliterate them differently, giving an
endless variation. Thus the single city which we give as
Cheung Mai, following Dr. Cheek, may be found in books and
maps as Cheng Mai, Cheang Mai, Zimma, Chang Mai, etc. To
ascertain the pronunciation in such cases, see what one
pronunciation can be made to cover all of these spellings.
It is hoped that the present volume is a step in the
direction of a correct transliteration of Siamese names.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
SIAM.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE INDO-CHINESE PENINSULA. _An Introductory Sketch._ 15
CHAPTER II.
SIGHT-SEEING IN BANGKOK. _Mrs. S. R. House, formerly
of Bangkok._ 81
CHAPTER III.
TOURING IN SIAM. _Mrs. S. R. House, formerly of Bangkok._ 96
CHAPTER IV.
IN AND ABOUT PETCHABUREE. _Miss Sarah Coffman, Petchaburee._ 112
CHAPTER V.
ANIMALS OF SIAM. _Mrs. S. R. House, Bangkok._ 120
CHAPTER VI.
THE CHINESE IN SIAM. _Mrs. N. A. McDonald, Bangkok._ 145
PART II.
VARIETIES OF SIAMESE LIFE.
CHAPTER VII.
A SIAMESE WEDDING. _Mrs. J. W. Van Dyke, Petchaburee._ 162
CHAPTER VIII.
HOUSEKEEPING IN SIAM. _Miss M. L. Cort, Petchaburee._ 175
CHAPTER IX.
CHILD-LIFE IN SIAM. _Miss H. H. McDonald, Bangkok._ 184
CHAPTER X.
FIRST HAIR-CUTTING OF A YOUNG SIAMESE.
_Samuel R. House, M. D., Bangkok._ 193
CHAPTER XI.
THE SCHOOLS OF SIAM. _Mrs. S. G. McFarland, Bangkok._ 206
CHAPTER XII.
HOLIDAYS IN SIAM. _Mrs. S. R. House, Bangkok._ 224
CHAPTER XIII.
A GAMBLING ESTABLISHMENT.
_The late D. Bradley, M. D., Bangkok._ 233
CHAPTER XIV.
SIAMESE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF MEDICINE.
_E. A. Sturge, M. D., Petchaburee._ 236
CHAPTER XV.
CHOLERA-TIMES IN BANGKOK. _Samuel R. House, M.D._ 241
CHAPTER XVI.
SIAMESE CUSTOMS FOR THE DYING AND DEAD.
_The late D. Bradley, M. D., of Bangkok._ 247
CHAPTER XVII.
THE WATS OF SIAM. _A Compilation._ 269
PART III.
HISTORICAL SKETCHES.
CHAPTER XVIII.
HISTORICAL SKETCH OF SIAM.
_Rev. Eugene P. Dunlap, Petchaburee._ 304
CHAPTER XIX.
MISSIONARY LADIES IN THE KING’S PALACE.
_Mrs. Mattoon, formerly of Bangkok._ 320
CHAPTER XX.
CORONATION OF HIS MAJESTY THE SUPREME KING OF SIAM.
_Rev. N. A. McDonald, Bangkok._ 338
CHAPTER XXI.
HISTORY OF THE MISSIONS IN SIAM AND LAOS.
_Samuel R. House, M. D., Bangkok._ 351
PART IV.
LAOS.
CHAPTER XXII.
LAOS LAND AND LIFE. _Mrs. S. C. Perkins, Philadelphia._ 419
CHAPTER XXIII.
FROM BANGKOK TO CHEUNG MAI.
_Mrs. Jonathan Wilson, Cheung Mai._ 460
CHAPTER XXIV.
RECOLLECTIONS OF CHEUNG MAI.
_Miss Emelie McGilvary, Cheung Mai._ 479
CHAPTER XXV.
A DAY AT CHEUNG MAI. _Mrs. Jonathan Wilson, Cheung Mai._ 491
CHAPTER XXVI.
A LAOS CABIN. _Rev. Jonathan Wilson, Cheung Mai._ 497
CHAPTER XXVII.
SUPERSTITIONS OF THE LAOS. _Dr. and Mrs. Cheek, Cheung Mai._ 504
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TREATMENT OF THE SICK. _M. R. Cheek, M. D., Cheung Mai._ 511
CHAPTER XXIX.
A TOUR IN THE LAOS COUNTRY.
_The late G. W. Vrooman, M. D., Cheung Mai._ 525
CHAPTER XXX.
CHINA TO BRITISH INDIA, VIA CHEUNG MAI.
_M. A. Cheek, M. D., Cheung Mai._ 543
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
HIS SUPREME MAJESTY, CHULALANGKORN I., KING OF SIAM. _Frontispiece._
BURMESE TEMPLE 23
RUINS OF A PAGODA AT AYUTHIA 29
SIAMESE GENTLEMAN IN MODERN COURT-DRESS 32
SIAMESE LADY IN MODERN COURT-DRESS 33
VIEW OF PAKNAM, ON THE MENAM 37
PORT OF CHANTABOON 41
LION ROCK, AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE PORT OF CHANTABOON 44
TYPES OF WOMEN OF FARTHER INDIA 57
SCENE ON AN ORIENTAL RIVER 65
THE BREAD-FRUIT 72
THE LOTUS 74
BIRD OF PARADISE 77
MONKEYS PLAYING WITH A CROCODILE 79
BANGKOK, ON THE MENAM 83
HOUSE-SPARROW 84
FLOATING STORES AT BANGKOK 89
MISSIONARY-BOAT FOR TOURING IN SIAM 97
PRABAT 103
HOUSE AT PETCHABUREE 113
VIEW OF THE MOUNTAINS OF PETCHABUREE 116
MONKEYS 121
JAVA SPARROWS 122
THE COBRA 123
HUNTING THE CROCODILE 127
ELEPHANTS AT HOME 129
AN ELEPHANT PLOUGHING 131
THE WHITE ELEPHANT 141
HOME OF RICH CHINAMAN 146
CHINESE BOAT-PEOPLE 151
CHINESE CEMETERY 152
PAPER PRAYERS 155
PARLOR OF CHINESE HOUSE 156
MISSION-HOUSE 171
SIAMESE LADIES DINING 179
A YOUNG SIAMESE PRINCE 189
A CHINESE STREET-SHOW 191
REMOVAL OF THE TUFT OF A YOUNG SIAMESE 195
A SCHOOL IN SIAM 215
A FEW OF THE CHILDREN OF THE LATE FIRST KING OF SIAM 223
CARRYING THE KING TO THE TEMPLE 231
SIAMESE ACTRESS 234
CREMATION TEMPLE: A TEMPORARY BUILDING 251
TOMB OF A BONZE 263
BANYAN TREE 270
SIAMESE TEMPLE 271
TEMPLE AT AYUTHIA 275
MONASTERY OF WAT SISAKET 277
BRASS IDOL IN A TEMPLE AT BANGKOK 279
THE GREAT TOWER OF THE PAGODA WAT CHEUG 283
BUDDHIST PRIEST 285
BUDDHIST PRIESTS GATHERING FOOD 295
RUINS OF A TEMPLE AND STATUE AT AYUTHIA 303
ATTACHÉ OF SIAMESE EMBASSY: COURT-COSTUME IN 1883 313
THE LATE FIRST KING AND QUEEN 323
SOMDETCH CHOWFA CHULALANGKORN 339
HALL OF AUDIENCE, PALACE OF BANGKOK 341
BRAHMAN AT WORSHIP 345
CORONATION OF A LAOS KING 421
A LAOS FUNERAL 429
TAPPING THE BORASSUS PALM 449
A LAOS HOME 499
CAMPING IN A LAOS FOREST 529
SIAM AND LAOS.
PART I.
SIAM.
CHAPTER I.
_THE INDO-CHINESE PENINSULA._
When about to visit a foreign country the prudent traveler is careful
to seek in guidebooks and from maps some data in regard to its
position, prominent features and relation to adjacent regions. Such
information adds interest to each stage of his journey. Climbing a
mountain, he overlooks two kingdoms. Such a valley opens into a rich
mining district; the highlanders of that range are descendants of the
original lords of the soil; the navigability of this river is of
commercial importance as a possible trade-route.
In like manner, bold outlines of the whole peninsula furnish the best
introduction to a careful study of Central Indo-China, showing the
trade-connection of Northern Laos with Burmah and the richest mining
province of China, and the relation of Siamese progress to certain
Asiatic commercial problems. New views also are thus gained of the
great work actually accomplished by our American missionaries for
science and civilization in this corner of the globe during their
self-imposed exile of half a century.
Indo-China is the south-east corner of Asia, a sharply-defined,
two-pronged peninsula outjutting from China just below the Tropic of
Cancer, its long Malayan arm almost touching the equator, bounded
east, south and west by water. Southward, the Eastern Archipelago
stretches toward Australia, “a kind of Giants’ Causeway by means of
which a mythological Titan might have crossed from one continent to
another.”
Along the north the extreme south-west angle of the Celestial Empire,
by name Yunnan, lies in immediate contact with the Burmese, the Laos
and the Tonquinese frontiers, whence the main rivers of the peninsula
divide their streams.
YUNNAN may be regarded as a lower terrace projecting from the giant
Thibetan plateau――an extensive, uneven table-land, separated for the
most part by mountains from contiguous regions. The northern portion
is a confused tangle of lofty ranges, with peaks rising above the
snowline, and few inhabited valleys――a region, in a word, compared to
which Switzerland is an easy plain――of wild romantic scenery, ravines,
torrents and landslips, but with little industry or commerce. Maize is
used for food throughout the sparsely-populated district, since rice
cannot be cultivated at such altitudes. The main ranges have a
north-and-south trend, subsiding some thousand feet before reaching
the Indo-Chinese frontier. Parallel to the lower south and south-east
chains of mountains are a series of rich upland valleys, each basin
supplied with its own watercourse or lake, and tenanted more or less
densely by the busy villages situated near the water. Rice, pepper and
the poppy are extensively cultivated.
The choicest portion of this province lies within the open angle
formed by the divergence of four large rivers――viz. “the Yangtse,
taking its course due north, till, bending to the east, it makes its
final exit into the Chinese Sea at Shanghai; the Mekong, pursuing a
tortuous course south to the China Sea near Saigon; the Si-Kiang,
originating near the capital of the province, flows due east to
Canton; while a fourth, the Songkoi, or ‘Red River,’ goes south-east
to Hanoi and the Gulf of Tonquin. A central position amidst such
mighty waterways and with so wide a circumference of outside
communication indicates the great importance of the district either
for administration or trade――a fact early appreciated by the sagacity
of the Chinese, who as far back as the third century established
fortified colonies among the then savage and recalcitrant tribes of
Yunnan. For export Yunnan has three capital products to offer――opium,
tea and metals. The opium-yielding poppy grows almost everywhere. The
celebrated tea of the south-east is in great request, being considered
by the Chinese themselves superior to all other qualities of tea
throughout the empire. Its cultivation offers no difficulties, the
high price it commands outside of the region being solely due to the
costliness of transport. But it is the metal-trade which will in all
probability be the prominent feature of commerce. The great tin-mines
have supplied the whole of China from time immemorial; copper abounds
throughout the province; lead, gold, silver, iron, and last, but not
least, coal, make up the list. Curiously enough, the vast Chinese
empire includes no other truly metalliferous province except the
bordering region of Western Ssu-ch’nan, geologically, though not
administratively, a part of Yunnan; nothing but the inaccessibility,
and too-often disturbed and lawless condition, of the country has thus
far hindered its mines from becoming sources of really incalculable
wealth to the province, to the Chinese empire at large, and, by
participation, to foreign commerce.”
The affluent circumstances of the peasantry in the southern districts
are in marked contrast with those of the north. The women do not
compress their feet. Many of the men bear the Muslim’s physique and
features. Indeed, before the merciless massacre of the Panthays,
Mohammedans formed the majority of the population. But the last
quarrel, begun by miners in 1855, only ended in 1874 by wellnigh the
extermination of the entire Muslim community. Mounted expresses were
despatched to seventy-two districts with instructions to the principal
mandarins from the governor of the province. Families were surprised
and butchered by night, their homes sacked and mosques burned. A cry
of horror ran from village to village. The Mohammedans rushed to arms,
collecting in vast numbers, and upward of a million Chinese were
killed in revenge. In the end the Panthays were crushed out, but more
than one-fourth of the inhabitants of Yunnan had perished or
emigrated. Plague and famine followed the great rebellion and
fearfully devastated the whole region, which is only now slowly
recovering its former prosperity.
The aboriginal inhabitants of Yunnan are apparently of the same stock
as the Laos, just across the border. The variety of their clans and
picturesque costumes recalls the wild Highlanders of Scotland.
The chief lack of Yunnan is good roads. Going east or west, the
highways run up the ridge, over the saddle or watershed, and dip down
into another valley, and this up-and-down process must be repeated
from town to town; ravines must be crossed, torrents must be bridged,
and often the narrow causeway lies along the side of a precipice or
the ascent may be some hundred feet up the face of a mountain.
Merchandise crossing the Laos frontier must be carried long distances
at an enormous cost. Thus the celebrated so-called Puekr tea of
North-eastern Laos, just a little south of the Yunnan border, while
freely used by the peasantry of that province, is too expensive by the
time it reaches the nearest Chinese port to export to Russia or
Europe. Yet the amount of goods and produce that move to and fro _viâ_
Szmao, the last Chinese administration town, to Laos, and _viâ_ Cheung
Mai to Burmah, is surprising,――thus affording the best possible
guarantee for an increased amount to follow were only communication
facilitated. Railroad communication for an overland route is warmly
advocated. “From Yunnan,” as Baron Richthoren puts it, “the elongated
ridges of the Indo-Chinese peninsula (the land of the Burmese, Malays,
Siamese, Laos and Cochin-Chinese) stretch southward as fingers from
the palms of a hand.”
The configuration of the peninsula is easily remembered as separated
by longitudinal belts of hills, spurs from the northern ranges, into
principal basins, or funnels, for the rich drainage of the surrounding
highlands, _viâ_ Burmah, or the basin of the Irawaddy; the valley of
the Menam and that of the Cambodia or Mekong River; and Tonquin,
connected by a narrow coast-strip with the French delta.
The fluvial system of each of these great valleys is dominated by one
important river, whose downward course is more or less impeded by
cataracts, until the upper plateaux gradually subside into undulating
tracts, which increase in width and levelness as they approach the
several deltas. Throughout Indo-China these waterways, with their
intersecting streams and canals, are the main highways of population,
commerce and travel. Native villages often consist of one long
water-street running through a perfect jungle of palms and other
tropical trees, the little bamboo huts and the wats nearly hidden in
the foliage. Boats are used instead of carts, carriages or cars. In
the upland districts buffaloes and elephants are used; but, with the
exception of the pack-peddlers and caravans at certain seasons, the
traveler off the waterways would rarely meet any trace of human life.
I. THE FIRST BASIN――BURMAH.
The westernmost basin embraces the kingdom of Ava, ruled by a most
cruel native autocrat, and the three British provinces of Lower
Burmah, governed by a chief commissioner residing at Rangoon and
subject to the viceroy of India at Calcutta.
What is known of Burmah is chiefly embraced in the valley of the
Irawaddy. This large stream, rising in Thibet, flows almost due south
some twelve hundred miles, receiving tributaries east and west, and
communicating by numerous branches with the Salween, running parallel
on the east, but almost useless for travel, owing to its rapids.
[Illustration: BURMESE TEMPLE.]
The Burmese delta (a network of intercommunicating waters from the
Indian border-ranges to the banks of the Salween near the Siamese
frontier) has some fourteen outlets, but most of these are obstructed
by sandbars and coral-reefs. Bassein and Rangoon are the seagoing
ports. The latter is a large city of over one hundred thousand
inhabitants, and now ranks third in commercial importance in the
Indian empire. This plain from the coast to Prome is subject to
periodical inundations and is exceedingly productive. It is a great
rice-district. Below the northern frontier of British Burmah the
Irawaddy is nearly three miles broad. In the neighborhood of Prome the
face of the country changes. Ranges of lofty mountains approach nearer
and nearer, and finally close in on the stream, the banks becoming
precipitous and the valley narrowing to three-quarters of a mile.
Above the latitude of Ava the whole region is intersected by
mountains, and not far from Mandalay, the capital of Upper Burmah, is
their lowest defile. The banks at this point are covered with dense
vegetation and slope down to the water’s edge. Still ascending the
river, before reaching Bhamo one enters an exceedingly picturesque
defile, the stream winding in perfect stillness under high bare rocks
rising sheer out of the water. The current of the upper defile above
Bhamo is very rapid, and the return waters occasion violent eddies.
When the water is at its lowest no bottom is found even at forty
fathoms.
For centuries the Irawaddy has furnished the sole means of
communication between the seaboard and interior. The Irawaddy Flotilla
Company, started in 1868, employs over one thousand hands, and sends
twice each week magnificent iron-clad steamers with large flats
attached to Mandalay. The time-distance between the two capitals is
greater than from New York to Liverpool. Smaller vessels go on to
Bhamo. The native craft are estimated at eight thousand. The rapid
increase of trade along this river attracts colonists and has greatly
enriched British Burmah.
Bhamo, on the left bank, near the confluence of the Taping and close
to valuable coal-mines, is within a few miles of the Chinese frontier.
The old trade-route noted by Marco Polo is still in use, but the
ranges to be crossed, the great cost of land-carriage, together with
the dangerous neighborhood of the Kachyen banditti, render the road of
limited avail for trade-purposes beyond the fertile Taping valley. The
China Inland Mission and the American Baptists have stations at Bhamo.
The Rangoon-Prome railroad was opened in 1878. The Rangoon-Toungoo
line will be in use this year, following the Sittang valley to the
borders of Siam. British capitalists have now under contemplation a
road crossing from Maulmain to Cheung Mai, a distance of about one
hundred and sixty miles, with only one comparatively low hill-chain
east of the Salween River. A terminus at Cheung Mai would create an
increased traffic, leading to a further extension _viâ_ Kiang Kung to
Szmao on the Yunnanese frontier, a distance roughly estimated at two
hundred and forty miles, with no intervening mountain-system. Although
as yet untraveled by European exploration, this track is in use by the
native caravans, and the projected railroad will open a most important
exchange market with millions of well-to-do, industrious inhabitants,
occupying some of the richest mining and agricultural districts of
Southern Asia.
The official census report of Burmah states: “There is possibly no
country in the world whose inhabitants are more varied in race,
customs and language. There are said to be as many as forty-seven
different tribes in the narrow boundaries of the two Burmahs, but
these may be classed under four――Peguans, Burmese, Karens and Shans or
Laos. The Peguans seem to have first occupied the country. The Burmese
followed, and took possession of the plains and valleys of Upper and
Lower Burmah. Their language is used in the English courts of justice,
and is probably destined to be the prevailing language of the country.
The Laos, occupying the north-eastern plateaux skirting the Chinese
border, are from a great trunk of uncertain root which appears to have
been derived originally from Yunnan, where the main stem still retains
its primitive designation of La’o――a name commonly exchanged for
’shan’ in the language of the modern Burmese and English writers. The
Karens, scattered along the Siamese frontiers, are various tribes
having their own customs, dialects and religion. They have a tradition
that when they left Central Asia they were accompanied by a younger
brother, who traveled faster, went directly east and founded the
Chinese empire. Before the British acquired Lower Burmah these simple
mountaineers were subjected to brutal persecutions. So late as 1851
the Burmese viceroy told Mr. Kincaid that he ‘would instantly shoot
the first Karens he found that could read.’”
The Karens live among the vast forests, now in one and anon in another
valley, clearing a little patch for rice-fields and gardens, their
upland rice and cotton furnishing food and clothing and the
mountain-streams fish in abundance. They seldom remain more than two
seasons in one spot, and all through the jungles are found abandoned
Karen hamlets, where rank weeds and young bamboo-shoots supplant the
cultivated fields.
II. THE SECOND BASIN――SIAM.
The river Menam (or Meinam) is formed by the union of streams from the
north. About halfway in its course mountains close upon the river,
which passes from the upper plateaux of Laos into the valley of Siam
proper through some of the finest mountain-scenery in the world.
The rich alluvial plain of Siam is estimated at about four hundred and
fifty miles in length by fifty miles average breadth. The main stream,
above Rahany, is known as the Maping. Below the rocky defiles the
river divides several times, and contains some larger and smaller
islands; Ayuthia is built on one of the latter. The founding of this
city, about 1350 A. D., was one of the most memorable events in
Siamese history. In 1766 the Burmese depopulated the country and
burned Ayuthia. A new dynasty, with Bangkok for the capital, was
founded about a century ago.
Bangkok, sometimes called “the Venice of the Orient,” is the Siamese
metropolis――the first city in size, wealth and political importance.
Old Bangkok is changing rapidly. European fashions and architecture
are introduced among the nobility and wealthy. The new palace is a
mixture of European architectural styles, retaining the characteristic
Siamese roof. The furniture is on a most costly scale, having been
imported from England, it is stated, at an expense of some
seventy-five thousand pounds. The large library is filled with books
in several languages and furnished with all the leading European and
American periodicals. The royal guards are in European uniform, but
barefooted, only the officers being permitted to wear boots. In the
surrounding area are courts and rows of two-storied white buildings,
the barracks, mint, museum and pavilions. The entrance to the
throne-room is up a fine marble staircase lined with ferns, palms and
plants. The throne-room is a long hall hung with fine oil paintings
and adorned with costly busts of famous personages. The spacious
drawing-room adjoining is furnished in the most luxurious European
style.
[Illustration: RUINS OF A PAGODA AT AYUTHIA.]
The palace of the second king (named George Washington by his father,
who was a great admirer of our celebrated American statesman) is also
European in many of its appointments, with mirrors, pictures and
English and French furniture. This prince, still in the prime of
middle life, devotes a great part of his time to scientific pursuits,
and has collected in his palace much machinery, including a small
steam-engine built by himself. He is fond of entertaining European
guests in European style; his reception-room is brilliantly
illuminated with innumerable little cocoanut-oil lamps.
The Krung Charoon, or main highway of Bangkok, is several miles in
length, and used by the nobility and foreigners for driving, except
during the high tide of the river, when it is often partly under
water. The liveliest quarters in the capital are those mainly occupied
by the Chinese, with their eating-houses, pawnbrokers’ and drug-shops
and the ubiquitous gambling establishments, and with a Chinese
_waiang_, or theatre, near by.
The finest view of the city and its surroundings is from the summit of
Wat Sikhet.
The summer palace recently erected by His Majesty, a few miles below
Ayuthia, is a large building in semi-European style, standing amid
lovely parks and gardens, ornamented with fountains and statuary, with
streams spanned by bridges, and a fine lake with an island on which is
built a most delightful Siamese summer-house. The royal wat (temple)
opposite this palace is a pure Gothic building fitted with regular
pews and a handsome stained-glass window.
“There are a few houses in Bangkok, occupied by the ‘upper ten,’ built
of stone and brick, but those of the middle classes are of wood, while
the habitations of the poor are constructed of light bamboos and
roofed with leaves of the atap palm. Fires are frequent, and from the
combustible character of the erections hundreds of habitations are
often destroyed. But in a few days the mischief is generally repaired,
for on such occasions friends and neighbors lend a willing hand.”
Some of the entertainments of the nobility are in the European style.
Miss Coffman describes one given to the foreign residents by the
Kromatah, or minister of foreign affairs, to celebrate the birthday of
the young king: “The city was illuminated. We left home about eight
and returned at eleven P. M. In front of the house was latticework
with an archway brilliantly illuminated. A strip of brussels carpet
was laid from the archway to the steps. The house was elegantly
furnished in foreign style. In the reception-room were three
flower-stands, the centre one of silver and the other two glass, each
having little fountains playing. The sofas and chairs were cushioned
with blue silk. An excellent band discoursed harmonious music, and on
the arrival of His Majesty a salute was fired.”
[Illustration: SIAMESE GENTLEMAN IN MODERN COURT-DRESS.]
The dress and habits of the court-circles have undergone an entire
revolution within the last few years. The men wear neat linen, collar
and cravat; an English dress-coat, with the native p’anoong arranged
much like knickerbockers; shoes and stockings. The court-dress of a
Siamese lady consists of a neat, closely-fitting jacket, finished at
throat and wrists with frills of white muslin and lace, and a p’anoong
similar to that worn by the men. The artistic arrangement of the scarf
is a matter of much importance. Before a new one is worn the plaits
are carefully laid and the shawl placed in a damp cloth and pounded
with a mallet till it is dry. This fixes the folds so that they last
as long as the fabric, and also gives a pretty gloss to the goods.
Since the introduction of the jacket, instead of the many chains they
wear valuable belts of woven gold with jeweled buckles, and instead of
a number of rings on every finger, fewer and more valuable gems.
[Illustration: SIAMESE LADY IN MODERN COURT-DRESS.]
It is difficult for a stranger to distinguish a woman of the lower
classes from a man, as in dress, manner, appearance and occupation
they seem so much alike. The streets, the marketplaces and the temples
are crowded with women. Housekeeping and needlework form so small a
part of female labor here that much opportunity is given for
out-of-door work.
John Chinaman too is everywhere in Bangkok, and at the floating
Chinese eating-shops or little boats a simple meal of rice, curry and
fish can be had for a few cents.
The king’s garden is thrown open once a week to the public, and an
excellent native band plays for several hours.
Progress marks the condition of things in Bangkok. The young king is
one of the most advanced sovereigns of Eastern Asia. He has made a
study of the laws and institutions of Western civilization, and has a
manly ambition to make the most of his country. All foreigners who
meet him speak well of him. He is bright, amiable and courteous in his
personal intercourse, and devotes much time to state business,
assisted by his brother and private secretary, usually called Prince
Devan, who, though young, has the reputation of being a keen,
thoughtful statesman. A younger brother is at present being educated
at Oxford. The king is a little over thirty, slight in figure, erect,
with fine eyes and fair complexion for a Siamese. He was born on the
22d of September, 1853, and came to the throne when only fifteen years
of age.
Paknam is situated near the entrance of the eastern mouth, an
extensive mud-flat obliging the largest vessels to find anchorage on
the open roadstead at the head of the gulf. Five miles above Paknam is
Paklatlang, the entrance of the canal which shortens one-half the
distance by river from Bangkok. This canal, however, is only available
for small boats. A carriage-road runs from Bangkok to Paknam, some
twenty-five miles, and here is the custom-house and port of Bangkok.
The last division of the Menam occurs below Bangkok, and the river
finally disgorges itself by three mouths into the gulf.
Two rivers from the west fall into the middle and westernmost
mouths――the Sachen, with its towns and villages, sugar-plantations and
mills scattered all along its elegant flexions, connecting by canals
with the Menam east and the Meklong west; and the Meklong, an
independent stream from the Karen country, flowing through a narrow
but extremely fertile valley in which hills and plains of some extent
alternate. The capital of the province is situated at the junction of
the canal――a town of twenty to thirty thousand inhabitants, noted as
the birthplace of the Siamese Twins.
The “Sam-ra-yot,” or Three Hundred Peaks, separate Siam from Burmah.
This chain consists of a series of bold conical hills, extremely
ragged on their flanks and covered with immense teak-forests
stretching hundreds of miles over mountains and valleys. The noted
pass of the Three Pagodas across this range follows a branch known as
the Meklong Nee to the last Karen town on the Siamese frontier, thence
on foot or elephants across the summit to the head-waters of the
Ataran, and by canoes, shooting the rapids, a somewhat abrupt descent,
to Maulmein.
[Illustration: VIEW OF PAKNAM ON THE MENAM.]
Petchaburee, on the western side of the gulf, near the foot of this
range, is a sanitarium for natives and Europeans. Here is the
Presbyterian mission compound, and on the summit of a neighboring hill
is the king’s summer palace. The Tavoy road leads through this town.
The Laotian captives who built the royal palace are settled in
villages all over the Petchaburee valley; “their bamboo huts with
tent-like roofs, thatched with long dried grass, rise from the expanse
of level plain among fruit and palm trees like green islands in the
sea.” Each hut has its well-tilled kitchen-garden, its tobacco- and
cotton-plot. The latter, dyed with vegetable and mineral substances,
the women weave on their own looms for family use. With the exception
of a few Chinese articles, everything about these hamlets is of native
make. The Laotian serfs are superior to the Siamese physically, and
have more force of character.
The Malay peninsula projects from the Isthmus of Kraw (lat. 10° N.),
six or seven hundred miles to Cape Romania, opposite Singapore. If the
estuaries between the Pakshan and Chomphon Rivers are ever united by a
ship-canal, the peninsula would be put where it ethnically and
geographically belongs, as one of the islands of the Eastern
Archipelago.
Much of the peninsula is still one of the unexplored portions of the
globe. The rich stanniferous granite of the rocky spine running from
Kraw Point to the alluvial plain at the south is probably the most
extensive storehouse of tin in the world. Across the mountains there
are scarcely anywhere beaten tracks, and the natural passes between
the coasts are mostly overgrown with jungles. Numerous hot springs and
frequent earthquakes attest the presence of active igneous forces.
Coal has been recently discovered near Kraw Point. Gold and silver are
associated with the tin, and iron abounds in the south.
Apart from the Chinese immigrants, who here, as elsewhere, monopolize
trade, the inhabitants may be classed under three heads――the
fullblooded Siamese of the North; the Samsams, or mixed Malay and
Siamese population; and the southern Malays, subdivided into the rude
aborigines, who inhabit the wooded uplands of Malacca, and the more
cultivated Mohammedan Malays, who under the influence, first of the
Hindoos and then of the Arabs, have developed a national life and
culture and formed states in various parts of the Archipelago. They
are migratory in their habits, and perhaps come next to the Chinese as
sailors and traders and in the spirit of adventure. Like most
followers of the False Prophet, they are devoutly attached to their
faith, though in all other respects they readily accommodate
themselves to the social usages of the Siamese and Chinese. They wear
turbans and loose trousers and carry a bent poignard. Though not a
quarrelsome race, when excited they become reckless and ferocious. For
a long time this Malay race was classed as an independent division of
mankind, but is now considered as affiliated with the Mongol stock,
closely resembling the Siamese. The Malayan tongue, with its simple
structure and easy acquirement, is a valuable instrument of
communication throughout the whole of Farther India.
The Bang Pakong, thirty miles east of Paknam, has its sources in the
Cambodian Mountains and drains a highly-productive country. Sugar and
rice are extensively cultivated along its banks. Bang Pasoi, its port,
has a considerable trade with the interior. A delightful view of the
surrounding country may be enjoyed from a small mountain south of the
town. To the west are extensive salt-works, the sea being let into
large flats enclosed by embankments and left to evaporate with the
heat of the sun. Cartroads lead off to the neighboring villages, to
Anghin, and thence to Chantaboon, five or six days’ journey. Buffaloes
are used here for carts, and there are also some riding horses and
elephants.
[Illustration: PORT OF CHANTABOON.]
Anghin is a little village frequented by foreigners for a few weeks in
February or March for surf-bathing. A sanitarium was erected there
some years ago, and the following advertisement appeared in the
Bangkok newspaper, August 29, 1868:
“His Excellency Ahon Phya Bhibakrwongs Maha Kosa Dhipude, the Phra
Klang, Minister of Foreign Affairs, has built a sanitarium at Anghin
for the benefit of the public. It is for the benefit of the Siamese,
Europeans or Americans to go and occupy when unwell to restore their
health. All are cordially invited to go there for a suitable length of
time and be happy, but are requested not to remain month after month
and year after year, and regard it as a place without an owner. To
regard it in this way cannot be allowed, for it is public property,
and others should go and stop there also.”
The eastern coast of the gulf is lined with numerous hills, and a
little way out in the gulf are islands, many of them extremely
precipitous and wild and romantic in appearance. Chantaboon, the most
eastern Siamese province on the gulf, is one of the most fertile and
populous districts. The government regards it as of much importance,
and has fortified it at great expense.
The plain is irrigated by a network of short streams. The coast west
of the bay is mountainous, and a projecting arm guards the entrance.
The river near its mouth is perfectly clear, while the Menam is muddy.
Ten miles inland of the coast the Sah Bap hills extend some thirty
miles. Bishop Pallegoix says that in an hour or two’s wandering
through these mountains his party collected a handful of precious
stones. Gems are more abundant on the frontiers of the Xong tribes, at
the north-east corner of the gulf, where the mountains form an almost
circular barrier and the wild highlanders are accused of poisoning the
frontier wells to keep off strangers. Ship-timber abounds near
Chantaboon, and building after European models is prosecuted with
vigor at the government dockyards. The chief town is situated some
miles inland, near Sah Bap, where the windings of the little streams,
the high forest-clad mountains, give a varied and picturesque aspect,
and the climate, owing to the mixture of sea- and mountain-air, is
more propitious than at Bangkok.
The famous Lion Rock, a mass of rudely-shaped stone which stands like
the extremity of a cape near this port, is held in great veneration by
the natives. “From a distance,” says M. Mouhot, “it so resembles a
lion that it is difficult to believe that nature unassisted formed
this singular colossus. Siamese verse records an affecting complaint
against the cruelty of the Western barbarian――an English captain,
whose offer to purchase had been refused, having pitilessly fired all
his guns at the poor animal.”
[Illustration: LION ROCK, AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE PORT OF CHANTABOON.]
The small tributary kingdom of Korat, north-east of Bangkok, can only
be reached through an extensive malarious jungle called, on account of
its fatal character, “Dong Phya Phai,” the Forest of the King of Fire.
All sorts of wild tales and legends are told of perils from robbers,
wild beasts and malarious sickness――supposed to be the curse of evil
spirits inflicted on those hardy enough to venture into this lion’s
den. Dr. House was the first white man who ever visited Korat, in
1853, while engaged in an extensive missionary tour through the
Cambodian valley, and M. Mouhot came several years later. But the
whole province is little more than a nest of robbers, largely made up
of vagrants, escaped prisoners and slaves. Nine miles east of Korat,
the principal town, is a remarkable ruin of the same general style as
the Cambodian ruins of Siamrap.
CAMBODIAN RUINS OF SIAMRAP.
In Eastern Siam, about fifteen miles north of the great lake of
Cambodia, are some of the most extraordinary architectural relics of
the world.
A trip of several hundred miles through a land where salas bare of
furniture are the only inns makes it advisable to carry our own
bedding, lay in supplies and provide a cook before leaving Bangkok. A
Cambodian servant to act as guide and interpreter is also needed.
A canal-trip due east from Bangkok brings us to the Kabin branch of
the Bang Pakong River. Mr. Thomson describes this as “a romantically
beautiful little stream, where we seemed to have retired to a region
unknown to men, inhabited only by the lower order of animals. Monkeys
walked leisurely beside the banks or followed us with merry chattering
along the overhanging boughs, while tall wading-birds with tufted
heads and snow-white plumage and rose-tipped wings paused in the
business of peering for fish to gaze with grave dignity upon the
unfamiliar intruders. Some were so near that we could have struck them
down with our oars, but to avoid this outrage they marched with a calm
and stately stride into the thickets of the adjoining jungle.”
Kabin is the entrepôt of trade with the far interior. Chinese
merchants here waylay the elephant-trains from Battabong and Laos,
exchanging salt and Chinese or European wares for horns, hides, silk,
oil and cardamoms. Mines near Kabin are said to furnish the most
ductile gold in the world.
Leaving our boats, elephants and a buffalo-cart are engaged. We step
from the veranda of the hut perched on poles to the elephant’s head
and into the howdah. The driver sits astride his neck, guiding when
needful with an iron-pointed staff. A military road from Kabin leads
to the borders of Cochin-China. Sesupon, the first Cambodian town, on
the frontier of provinces wrested by Siam from Cambodia a century ago,
is first reached. Some of the people, including the Siamese governor
and officials, speak both languages.
It is possibly harvest-time; in the fields the reapers are among their
crops. Some of the plains are covered with tall grass ten feet high.
There are perhaps burnt patches or a spark has just started a fire,
and the flames, swept on by the wind, are roaring, crackling and
sending up dense columns of smoke in their wake. As we pass under the
overarching branches of trees in the forest our elephant keeps an eye
the while ahead, and when some lower limb would strike the howdah he
halts, raises his trunk and breaks it off. We toil up and over the
watershed and down a steep bank to the river’s brink through the tall
grass and bamboos, our beast sometimes sliding on his haunches, then
bracing and feeling the way with his trunk, or plunging into the soft
ooze of the river, wading through water so deep that nothing but the
howdah and elephant’s head and trunk appear above the surface, and
then climbing with slow but sure steps up a bank at least forty-five
degrees steep.
Overtaken at night away from a town, we encamp under the trees. Our
attendants make an enclosure with the cart and branches of trees,
placing the cattle inside. We cook and eat our evening meal, making a
great fire and boiling the coffee and rice over the bright coals. Our
bivouac is underneath the stars on branches piled high above the
malarious surface of the ground. The natives watch in turn, keeping up
the fire to drive off wild beasts. Elephants prowl in droves outside
the enclosure and cries of jackals disturb our dreams. Possibly in the
morning tiger-tracks are pointed out to us.
On the higher waters of the Sesupon River, running south to the lake,
are the first traces of the ancient Cambodian civilization in the
shape of a ruined shrine buried beneath overgrown jungle; other ruins
are found in more than forty different localities up to the confines
of China.
Diverging to the north-east, evening finds us sheltered in a sala near
the quaint old town of Panomsok. To the north are the first altitudes
of the upland steppes of Laos. After such toilsome days and nights of
exposure, crossing some sunny eminences and ancient stone bridges, we
finally reach Siamrap, situated on a small stream about ten miles from
the head of Thalay Sap.
It is a walled city, the teakwood gates thickly studded with large
iron nails, the gateways surmounted by curious pointed towers. Houses
similar to those of the middle class in Bangkok, the court-house and
governor’s residence, are the only substantial buildings. Extensive,
straggling suburbs extend southward for several miles on either bank
of the river. The province has from eight to ten thousand inhabitants,
all Cambodians. Dr. McFarland reports: “We found but two or three
persons who understood the Siamese language. The governor was a rather
intelligent young Cambodian who had been educated at Bangkok, and of
course spoke Siamese. He was pleasant, affable and very fond of
foreigners.”
The communication with Panompen, the Cambodian capital, is by boat
down the river and crossing to the lower end of the lake, then by the
river which connects the lake with the Mekong. From Siamrap to
Panompen requires six days by boat.
Half a dozen miles north of Siamrap, in the midst of a lonely forest,
we come upon the celebrated ruins of Nagkon Thom, or Angkor the Great,
and Nagkon Wat, the City of Monasteries, is a few miles off. The city
ruins to-day are little more than piles of stone among the jungles.
The outer wall, built of immense volcanic rocks, is best preserved.
The natives say an entire day is necessary to circumambulate the
walls. A mutilated statue of the traditional leper king is seated on a
stone platform near the gate of the inner wall, protected by a grass
thatch. The pedestal has an ancient inscription on stone. The ruins
are in the charge of a provincial officer, who lives in a lodge near
the palace. There are some old towers still standing.
Some thirty miles distant are the Richi Mountains, said to contain the
quarries from which the supply of stone was obtained. A broad
causeway, still in serviceable repair, leads to the foot of these
hills. Mr. Thomson tried to go there, but the thick jungle made it
impossible to penetrate to the quarries even on elephants, although
the officer who accompanied him made a series of offerings at several
ruined shrines in order to propitiate the malignant spirits supposed
to infest these wilds.
Concerning Angkor the Great ancient tradition speaks in most
extravagant terms, as being of “great extent, with miles of royal
treasure-houses, thousands of war-elephants, millions of foot-soldiers
and innumerable tributary princes.” A road through the forest connects
this once royal city with Nagkon Wat. Along this road a side-path
leads to an observatory, overgrown with shrubs and vines, standing on
a terraced hill and commanding a wide view of the surrounding region.
The main entrance approaches the wat on the west, crossing by an
immense stone causeway over a deep, wide moat and under a lofty
gateway guarded by colossal stone lions hewn, pedestal and all, from a
single block. The structure rises in three quadrangular tiers, of
thirty feet, one above the other, facing the four points of the
compass, on a cruciform platform. Out of the highest central point
springs a great tower one hundred and eighty feet high, and four
inferior corner-towers rise around. It has been suggested that Mount
Menu, the centre of the Buddhist universe, with its sacred
rock-circles, is symbolized, the three platforms representing earth,
water and wind. Flights of steep stairways, each step a single block
and some having fifty or sixty steps, lead from terrace to terrace.
Long galleries with stone floors, stone roofs, and walls having a
surface smooth as polished marble, covered with elaborately chiseled
bas-reliefs, are flanked by rows of monolithic pillars whose girth and
height rival noble oaks. The centre compartments are walled in, and
the remaining two-thirds of the space consists of open colonnades. The
inner walls of these open galleries have blank windows; seven stone
bars, uniform in size and beautifully carved with the sacred lotus,
form a sort of balcony to each window.
The bas-reliefs have thousands of nearly life-size figures,
representing scenes from the great Indian epic Ramayana――battle-scenes,
processions of warriors, and the struggle of the angels with the
giants for the possession of Phaya Naght, the snake god. The majority
of these are executed with care and skill, and form one of the chief
attractions of the wat. Specimens of the more beautiful, and also
casts of the inscriptions, have been transported to the Cambodian
Museum of Paris, but, unfortunately, M. Mohl, the celebrated
Orientalist entrusted with the task of deciphering these unknown
characters, died before reaching any satisfactory conclusion. Scholars
seem inclined to regard the inscriptions as derived rather from the
Pali or Sanskrit than the Malay or Chinese language.
Mr. Thomson, the English traveler, with his photographs, has best
introduced these wonderful ruins to English readers. Mr. Frank
Vincent’s very readable account of his visit to these ruins in company
with Dr. McFarland, in 1871, also gives us much valuable information
and reproduces some of the English photographs. Dr. McFarland states
that “this wonderful structure covers an area of over ten acres――that
the space enclosed within the temple-grounds is two hundred and eight
acres, and the space within the walls of the city is over two thousand
acres. The temple is built entirely of stone. These stones were
brought a distance of about thirty miles, and must have required the
labor of thousands of men for many years. There is no such thing as
mortar or cement used in the building, and yet the stones are so
closely fitted as in some places to appear without seam. These ruins,
together with the beautiful little lakes that dot the plain and the
remnants of splendid roads that once traversed the country, show that
those formerly inhabiting this valley were a powerful race.”
And as we in turn ponder and gaze on these evidences of an unknown
civilization a spell falls upon our imagination. We seem to see these
forsaken altars thronged by devotees, and through the valley are busy
cities adorned with stately palaces, astir with the human life of a
powerful, opulent kingdom. But vainly do we conjecture how ruins of
such solidity, so stupendous in scale, of elaborate design and
excellent execution, could have lain forgotten through centuries in
this lonely forest-district of an almost unknown portion of the globe;
nor can the sloth and ignorance of the present semi-civilized
inhabitants offer any trustworthy solution of the problem. They reply,
“We cannot tell,” “They made themselves,” “The giants built them,” or
refer to a vague local tradition of an Egyptian king, turned into a
leper for an act of sacrilege, as the reputed founder of the wat.
The present good condition of the ruins of Nagkon Wat is largely due
to the late king of Siam, who gave them in charge of the small
religious brotherhood now living in little huts under the very shadow
of the gray walls.
Travelers describe Nagkon Wat as “a rival of Solomon’s temple” and
“grander than anything left us by Greece or Rome,” “occupying a larger
space than the ruins of Karnac,” “imposing as Thebes or Memphis, and
more mysterious.”
But the credit of what might be called the rediscovery of these
wonderful remains amidst the forest solitudes of Siamrap is due to M.
Mouhot, after these remnants of a lost past had for ages been
forgotten by all the world outside of their immediate vicinity. The
innumerable idols and thousands of bats hanging from the ceilings
would seem to have held undisturbed possession for centuries.
Fergusson’s opinion, that this shrine was devoted to the worship of
the snake god (see _Tree and Serpent Worship_), is not in accord with
the views of Garnier, Thomson and others, who agree that it must have
been erected in honor of Buddha. Dr. Bastian, president of the Berlin
Geographical Society, thinks, with Bishop Pallegoix, that the probable
date of the building――at least its commencement――was the grand event
from which the civil era of Siam dates――viz. the introduction of the
sacred Buddhist canon from Ceylon in the seventh century. The general
appearance of the worn stairways, and the dilapidated condition of the
city, slowly mouldering under the destructive encroachments of a
tropical jungle, would seem to indicate great age. Yet the mediæval
narrative of Cambodian travel by a Chinese officer, late in the
thirteenth century, recently translated by M. Remusat, contains no
allusion to this great temple, which has induced some to conclude that
the building belongs to a later period. In 1570 A. D. a Portuguese
refugee from Japan refers to these “ruins” and the inscriptions
thereon as being in “an unknown tongue.”
III. THE THIRD BASIN――VALLEY OF THE MEKONG.
The hill-country which separates the valley of Siam from that of the
Mekong (or Mekaung)――known in its lower course as the Cambodian
River――is of moderate elevation and the boundary-lines not well
defined.
The Mekong is one of the most remarkable streams of Asia. It rises in
Thibet, passes through Western Yunnan parallel with the Yangtse and
Salween, till, breaking through the mountains not far from each other,
the Yangtse flows across China and the Salween to the Bay of Bengal,
while the Mekong, crossing Laos and Cambodia, after a somewhat devious
course of at least two thousand miles reaches the Cochin-China delta.
The broken character of the Laos country gives the Mekong in its rapid
descent from plateau to plateau during its upper course the velocity
of a mountain-torrent as it tears along, with a noise like the roaring
of the sea, through deep gorges overshadowed by rocky defiles. In
Upper Laos the river is from six to eight hundred feet wide, and has
in the dry season an average depth of twenty feet, while the banks are
some twenty-five feet above the water, the difference between the
ordinary height and floodmark being very great. The rainy season
begins in April with the melting snow; the water rises gradually from
that time to July or August, when the country is flooded.
It was at Garnier’s suggestion that the great French commission of
exploration was sent up this river through Laos and Yunnan to Thibet,
1866-68. Garnier being considered too young, the chief command was
entrusted to Captain Doudart Lagrée. De Carné (the brilliant
journalist of the _Deux Mondes_) formed a third, and an armed escort
accompanied them. The pluck and resolute endurance of this gallant
band of Frenchmen, who during two years of exposure and hardships
toiled over some five thousand miles of a country almost unknown to
Europeans, command our admiration. Garnier took nearly all the
observations, and shortly after the death of Lagrée assumed command
and conducted the expedition safely to its close. De Carné describes
the Mekong as “an impassable river, broken at least thrice by furious
cataracts, and having a current against which nothing can navigate.”
M. Mouhot, the pioneer of European explorers in this valley, says that
his boatmen sometimes sought fire at night where they had cooked their
rice in the morning. He went as far as Looang Prabang, the
north-eastern Laos province tributary to Siam, where he died. Here the
channel is very wide and lake-like in its windings through a sort of
circular upland valley some nine miles in diameter and shut in by
mountains north and south, reminding one of the beautiful lake-scenery
of Como and Geneva. “If it were not for the blaze of a tropical sun,
or if the noonday heat were even tempered by a breeze, this Laos town
would be a little paradise,” is one of the latest entries in Mouhot’s
journal.
If there is almost an excess of grandeur in the upper courses of the
Mekong, the general aspect of the scenery as it reaches the
comparatively low level of Siam and Cambodia is sombre rather than
gay, though there is something imposing in the rapidity of so large a
volume of water. Few boats are to be seen, and the banks are almost
barren on account of the undermining of the forests, trees constantly
falling with a crash into the stream. For some two hundred miles from
its mouth the river is nearly three miles wide, and is studded with
islands, several of which are eight or nine miles long and more than a
mile broad. The discovery of the impracticability of the Mekong for
inland communication with Laos and China has robbed the French delta
of much of its supposed value.
[Illustration: Cambodia. Anam. Laos.
TYPES OF WOMEN OF FARTHER INDIA.]
The bulk of the Laos tribes are spread over the north-eastern valley
of the Mekong, from 21° to 13° north latitude. This extensive region
is a sort of _terra incognita_, reported to be thickly settled except
along the regions contiguous to the Tonquin Mountains, where the
villages are exposed to sudden raids from the wild tribes known as
“inhabitants of the heights,” who sometimes strike hands with the
Chinese refugees in making a foray over the border, carrying off the
peasants as slaves and driving away cattle, with whatever in the shape
of plunder can be moved. The caravans of pack-traders from Ssumao on
the Yunnan frontier bring back large loads of the celebrated
_so-called_ Puekr tea and cotton; whence it is inferred this plain
must be fertile and extensively cultivated.
Talā Sap (Sweet-water Lake), the great lake of Cambodia, forms a sort
of back-water to the river Mekong, with which its lower end connects
by the Udong. It belongs partly to Siam and partly to Cambodia. It is
one of those sheets of water called in Bengal _jhéts_――viz. a shallow
depression in an alluvial plain, retaining part of the annual overflow
throughout the entire year, hence subject to great variations of
extent and depth. In the dry season the average depth is four feet,
and the highest floods entirely submerge even the forests on its
banks. It takes about five days to traverse the lake when full.
Extensive fishing-villages, erected on piles, stud the lake, reminding
Mr. Thomson of “the pre-historic lake-dwellings of Switzerland.” The
houses are above a bamboo platform common to the entire settlement and
used for drying fish. This lake is an object of superstitious
veneration to the natives, the fish furnishing them with the most
important source of their livelihood. Enormous quantities are
exported, dried or alive in cages, while immense supplies are
furnished to Anamese villages to be boiled down into oil, thus giving
lucrative employment to thousands.
The small remnant of the ancient kingdom of Cambodia forms a rough
parallelogram, consisting in large part of an alluvial plain lying
athwart the Mekong, uncomfortably wedged in between Siam, Anam and the
French delta, with a very short west coast-line.
It would appear from Chinese annals that at an early period the
Cambodians were an exceedingly warlike race, and that their authority
extended over many of the Laos and even Siam. But for centuries
Cambodian influence in Indo-China has been on the decline. It has
little more than the name of an independent government at present,
being under a joint protectorate of Siam and France, and tributary to
both.
The Cambodians differ from the Siamese in language, but in habits and
religion resemble them, with the usual Indo-Chinese type of
government. There are Roman Catholic, but no Protestant, missionaries
in Cambodia or Cochin-China, though several years ago strong reasons
were urged for the establishment by the American Presbyterian Mission
of an out-station at one of the principal Cambodian towns.
Panompen, the present capital, is connected by a small steamer, which
makes regular trips, with Saigon. Below Panompen the river divides
into two streams, which flow south about fifteen miles apart, and
empty themselves into the China Sea. There is a labyrinth of
intersecting branches, creeks and canals across the delta, and the low
shores are mostly grown wild with jungle.
Saigon, on an offshoot narrow, tortuous, but navigable for vessels of
the heaviest tonnage, is situated about twenty-five miles inland. The
French governor resides here, and is assisted in the control of the
province by a legislative and executive council. Extensive parks
surround the palace; macadamized roads run through the city. There is
a public promenade along the river, and botanical gardens, where
foreign plants have been introduced with the intent of their
propagation. The spacious harbor with its floating dock contains a
fleet of iron-clad steamers, and flags of the different consulates are
floating from the line of mercantile and government offices along the
bank. Telegraph lines connect Saigon with all parts of the peninsula,
and submarine cables with the outside world.
IV. THE FOURTH BASIN――TONQUIN.
TONQUIN, the north-east corner of Indo-China, is a province of Anam.
It is separated by mountains from Laos and Siam and also from the
Chinese empire. The Songkoi, or Red River, dominates the whole fluvial
system, several streams from the north and west uniting, and then
dividing and diverging, so as to form a triangle or delta. Upon these
streams are situated the important towns. This Tonquinese river
connects Yunnan with the sea, forming an important trade-route. Its
port is Hanoi, at some little distance up the river, just as Bangkok
is in regard to the Menam. For the acquirement and control of this
waterway French enterprise seems to have taken the satirical counsel
of Horace, “Si possis recte; si non, quocunque modo.”
The French colonial government covers an empire in Indo-China similar
to that of Great Britain in India, and would like to annex not only
Anam, but Cambodia and Eastern Siam. Early in this century, at the
instigation of Roman Catholic missionaries, who have played an
important part in the political complications, the French assisted
Gialong, an Anamese aspirant to the throne, making their services the
basis of a treaty which virtually gave them the protectorate of the
whole eastern coast. This claim, being disputed by the successors of
the prince, was the pretext for further encroachments. The court of
Hué, too weak to resist, again and again memorialized the Chinese
government, and each time a strong protest was made by China, who
naturally objected to a foreign power holding the trade-keys of some
of her richest provinces. These remonstrances have been ignored, and
the frank statement of Dr. Hammand, the French civil commissioner in
Tonquin, is not calculated to commend Christian ethics to the
Buddhists of Southern Asia. “When a European nation,” he affirms,
“comes in contact with a barbarous people, and has begun to spread
around its civilizing influences, there comes a time when it becomes
_ipso facto_ a necessity to extend its boundaries. There is no country
more favorable to our development than the kingdom of Anam. The
Anamese recognize that we are incontestably their superiors. _It is
necessary to force Anam to accept our rule._” This has been done.
An able writer in the _London Quarterly_ (October, 1883) says: “The
railroad route from Maulmein across the Chino-Shan frontier being
assured, an upland cross-road of some seventy or eighty miles
north-east would lead to Yuan-Kiang on the main stream of the Songkoi,
whence a road would lie open to the capital, Yunnan-fu, or south to
the mart of Manhao, which is the head wharf of the Songkoi River
navigation within the province of Yunnan, and thence to the Gulf of
Tonquin.… Siam, the Laos provinces tributary and independent, Yunnan
and Tonquin can thus be brought into the closest and most profitable
connection with Burmah, all on one line, at once the easiest and most
expeditious across the peninsula, and thus a short direct line for
goods-transit be provided from the Gulf of Tonquin to the Bay of
Bengal.… This, then, is the answer to the riddle of the Sphinx of the
Far East, this the true solution of the Indo-Chinese overland route
problem; by this the long-sought goal will be obtained, and the
highest benefits conferred, not on Burmah and Yunnan only, but on
India and China; on Siam and the Laos country, and Tonquin; on British
and European enterprise throughout the China Sea and Indian Ocean
alike――the vision of Marco Polo and his gallant successors realized.”
This northern province is more closely connected with China in
government, literature and sympathy than with the rest of Anam. The
Tonquinese use the Chinese characters for the written language, and
near the frontier the Anamese tongue is hardly spoken; their laws and
customs are modeled on those of China; the internal trade is in
Chinese hands; the merchant quarter of Hanoi, with its shops and
well-paved streets, is purely Chinese; the external trade-centre is at
Hong Kong. Chinamen marry the women of the country, and all around the
fringe of the delta Chinese and half-breeds form the dominant race. It
is even hard to say just where Tonquin ends and China begins, for
there is a belt of debatable land along the frontier, narrow in the
north, but widening to over one hundred miles in the hills, and in
some of the border fortresses Chinese and Anamese exercise joint
control.
This plateau country, along the upper banks of the Songkoi and Claire
Rivers, is infested by wild native tribes and Chinese brigands under
the names of “Yellow Flags” and “Black Flags,” who erect barriers
along the streams, so that travel in these parts is dangerous. Hence
the importance of the fortified towns of Sontay and Bacninh, situated
close to these outlaw districts. From Sontay to Hanoi there is a
well-made embankment, shaded by fine trees. It was along this road
that Garnier and Revière met their deaths in 1873. Most of the travel
is along the river. Throughout the province almost the only highways
are footpaths across the jungles. From Hanoi roads lead north to China
and south to Hué. The influence of Hanoi, through Anam, is widespread
as a centre of fashion as well as of authority. A French writer calls
it the “Paris of the Anamese empire.” What more could he say?
[Illustration: SCENE ON AN ORIENTAL RIVER.]
The thickly-populated delta, intersected by streams and tidal creeks,
is subjected to periodical inundations, when the whole face of the
country has the appearance of an enormous lake, with here and there
clumps of trees, villages and pagodas. Away from the delta only the
valleys and lower slopes are cultivated, and the rest of the province
is a tangle of mountains covered with dense forests, of which little
is known, apart from the Songkoi and minor waterways, unless from the
reports of the natives or Roman Catholic missionaries. The population
of the province is estimated not to exceed ten millions, probably
less. The Anamese differ from those of the south, the race being
formed by a union of the hill-aborigines with the seaboard people. The
climate is not considered favorable for Europeans. There are no
Protestant missions in Anam.
This survey of the principal basins of Indo-China will enable the
reader to appreciate how largely the agricultural wealth and
commercial importance of all these countries depend on its rivers. It
is scarcely exaggeration to state that a few inches of water often
determine whether the receding flood at the annual inundation will
leave a bright, grain-laden plain or a sterile waste of ruined crops.
It should also be remembered that while periodical floods are common
to all the deltas, each valley has its own period, indicating that the
table-lands in which the rivers have their sources are at unequal
distances. Moreover, travel throughout the peninsula being so largely
aquatic, not only north and south along the main trunks, but across
the same valley by means of intersecting canals, tide plays an
important part in these waterway trips, and many smaller streams being
filled and emptied daily, a careful study of tidal influences will
avoid delay, as at times the water, suddenly receding, leaves a boat
stranded on the banks of some creek for hours, with no water even for
cooking or drinking purposes.
V. CLIMATE, PLANTS AND ANIMALS.
Far India, as this south-eastern corner of Asia is sometimes called,
has a tropical climate. At seasons the heat is intense, but in many
portions the warm air is genial and not unhealthy, though Europeans
need from time to time a change to a more bracing region. The seasons
are two――the wet and the dry: the former embraces our spring and
summer months, and ranges from May to October; the latter, the
remainder of the year. March and April are the hottest months;
November, December and January, the coolest. The winter is mild and
summer-like――doors and windows all open and no fire. Houses are built
without window-glass, and the shutters are seldom closed except at
night or to keep out the sun. Here, too, is the verdure of perpetual
summer――lands where the foliage is always green, where roses bloom
from the first to the last day of the year, and the orchards are
always laden with their luscious store――lands of Italian sunsets,
picturesque mountains, loveliest valleys, and long stretches of
comparatively still waters, said to resemble the Swiss mountain-lakes,
clear as crystal, reflecting the sky and great mountain-shadows, and
filled with fish; the grandest caves, the richest mines of precious
metals and valuable gems. Rice, the principal article of food among
the natives, grows almost spontaneously, and is used on the table at
an expense of three cents a pound, while bananas are sold for two
cents a dozen and oranges for half a cent each.
It does not cost much to build a little bamboo house after the native
fashion. For example, Miss Cort paid for one of her schoolhouses at
Petchaburee, fourteen by twenty-two feet, only $6.38 for the
materials, including a lock and key; $5.44 for the wages of the men
and women who built it――making the entire cost $11.82. But then we
should think it a very queer schoolhouse, with its basket-like walls
of woven bamboo, its roof of leaves sewed together, its three little
windows without any glass, and two doors; nor would its strangeness be
less striking if we saw the native teacher and children all sitting on
the floor. But things move slowly in these warm Eastern countries. If
you want to build a more substantial house, you must begin by buying
earth to make the bricks, and oftentimes rough logs to be worked up
into boards; and, though labor is cheap, a day’s work in Indo-China
will not mean anything like as much accomplished as in the same space
of time in America.
In the useful arts the inhabitants of this peninsula are far behind
Chinese and Hindoos, though there are said to be ingenious workers in
copper and iron, and in the manufacture of gold and silver vessels
they display considerable skill.
Agriculture is the main employment of the natives. In many parts of
this peninsula the land is prepared by turning in the buffaloes during
the rainy season to trample down weeds and stir the soil, which is
afterward harrowed by a coarse rake or thorny shrub, the stubble being
burnt and the ash worked in as manure.
But the Chinese are everywhere introducing improved methods. The best
quality of rice is transplanted, the plants lying partially covered in
the still pools of water between the rectangular ridges marked off for
the purpose of irrigation; and rice growing above the rising water
looks very like a field of wheat or tall grass. At high-flood seasons
it is a pretty sight to see the planters moving about in boats
attending to their crops. The growth is almost spontaneous. Little
care is needed until the whole family must turn out to drive off the
immense flocks of little rice-birds. The rice is sown in June,
transplanted in September and harvested late in December or in
January. In the fields at this season may be seen the reapers,
multitudes of sheaves and stacks of grain. The rice is generally
threshed by buffaloes, a hard circle being formed around each stack.
The carts have large wheels, four or five feet apart, with the sheaves
placed in a small rack. The driver guides the oxen by means of ropes
fastened in the septum of their noses, reminding one of the Scripture,
“I will put my hook in his nose.”
Sugar is produced almost everywhere, in Siam especially, under the
Chinese settlers, its quality yielding to that of no other sugar in
the world, so that it is fast becoming one of the most important
Siamese exports. Almost all the spices used throughout the world find
their early home in the peninsula or the neighboring islands――the
laurel-leaf clove; the nutmeg, like a pear tree in size, its nut
wrapped in crimson mace and encased in a shell; the cardamom, a plant
valuable for its seeds and the principal ingredient in curries and
compound spices. A pepper-plantation is a curious sight, the berries
growing, not in pods, but hanging down in bunches like currants from a
climber trained much like a hop-vine, yielding two annual and very
profitable crops. Tea is cultivated in the Laos provinces, and coffee
and cotton are also raised. Tobacco is largely grown, and its use is
almost universal; even babies in their mothers’ arms are often seen
puffing a cigar. A fine aromatic powder, made from the deep golden
root of the curcuma, is sold by the boatload in Bangkok; Siamese
mothers may be seen in the morning _yellowing_ their children with it
for beauty. It is also used to give color to curries, and mixed with
quicklime makes the bright pink paste wrapped in seri-leaf around the
betel-nut for chewing purposes.
Vegetable-gardens and fruit-orchards surround most of the villages.
The neat Chinese gardens near Bangkok are worth a visit. The land is
made sufficiently dry by throwing it up in large beds ten to twelve
feet high, extending the whole length of the grounds. The deep ditches
between have a supply of water even in the dry season, and a simple
instrument is used to sprinkle the plants with it several times a day.
The gardener lives within the premises, his small dirty hut guarded by
a multitude of dogs and a horrible stench of pigsty. The artificial
ridges of the paddy-fields beyond, three feet high, make quite
comfortable footpaths in the dry season.
[Illustration: THE BREAD-FRUIT.]
The Indo-Chinese fruits are of great excellence of flavor, and almost
every day of the year furnishes a new variety. The best oranges are
plentiful; pineapples are a drug in the market; lemons, citrons,
pomegranates are abundant and very cheap. As the season advances,
mangoes, guavas, custard-apples and the like follow in quick
succession; on some kinds of trees buds, flowers, green and ripened
fruit may be found at the same time. The small mahogany-colored
mangosteen is perhaps the most popular of tropical fruits. One species
of the sac has a fruit weighing from ten to forty pounds, which cut in
thick slices will supply a meal to twenty persons, and a single tree
will produce a hundred such fruit; the bright yellow wood of this tree
is used for dyeing the priests’ robes. The tamarind grows to an
enormous height and lives for centuries; under its shade the Siamese
assemble for most of their social games. The durian, a child of the
forest, has something the appearance of an elm; the large fruit, cased
in a thick hard rind as difficult to break as a cocoanut-shell and
covered with strong spines, gives a dangerous blow in falling. The
five shells within each contain several seeds rather larger than a
pigeon’s egg filled with custard-like pulp of a strong odor and unique
flavor. The plantain or banana has some forty varieties, with fruit
varying greatly in size as well as in flavor. It is the first fruit
given to babies, and, the Moslems say, was the gift of Allah to the
Prophet in his old age when he lost his teeth. The trees bear fruit
but once, and then are followed by others from the same root. The
useful bamboo is a tree-like plant with a jointed stem, producing
branches with willow-shaped leaves, which wave in the wind, giving an
elegant feathery appearance. So rapid is its growth, sometimes two
feet in a single day, that the plant attains its height of sixty to
seventy feet in a few months. It is said to have seven admirable
qualities――strength, lightness, roundness, straightness, smoothness,
hollowness and divisibility. The short succulent shoots are served on
the table like asparagus, pickled or candied. According to the Chinese
proverb, the grains are “more abundant when rice fails.” The stems
furnish bottles, buckets, baskets, fishing-rods, posts, bridges,
walls, floors, roofs, and even the string that lashes together rafter
and beam of the common native house in Indo-China.
[Illustration: THE LOTUS.]
Under the stimulating sunshine of the tropics a profusion of rare
shrubs and some of the most beautiful flowers reward slight labor with
a rapidity of growth and bloom unknown in colder regions. Roses of one
sort or another are perennial. Bright geraniums, brilliant lilies and
numberless plants indigenous to the country are in great demand and
cultivated extensively for domestic or religious uses. There are seven
varieties of the lotus, the favorite sacred flower of all Buddhist
countries. The red pond-lotus is most common; the blue, green, light
and dark-yellow flowers are rarer. The smallest variety has a white
flower scarcely larger than a daisy, and is found in the rivers,
principally at the season of inundation. The rose-colored lotus, whose
golden stamens breathe a delicious fragrance, is the ornament of all
festivities, and is sent as an offering to royalty, the priests and
Buddha himself. The mali, a fragrant white flower about the size of a
pink, is much cultivated in the neighborhood of Bangkok. It grows on a
shrub about three feet high. The wreaths worn around the topknots of
children are braided from this flower, which is also used for
necklaces, bracelets and to perfume water. Rare and beautiful orchids
are also here in large numbers, and many of the varicolor-leaved
plants find this their native home.
Throughout the Indo-Chinese peninsula are great belts of trackless
forests of teak and other valuable woods, tropical trees yielding rich
gums and aromatic odors――the tall, exquisitely graceful wood-oil tree;
the india-rubber, gutta-percha――first discovered in Malayland――and
other varieties of the Ficus; the cajaput, the upas, the gamboge.
There are thousands of miles of these jungles never yet subdued by
man, through whose green twilight the traveler can only force his way
axe in hand. Here are majestic trees, it may be a hundred and fifty
feet high and of great girth, draped with a whole world of dangling
vines and parasite trailers, spreading everywhere a canopy of leaf and
gorgeous blossoms; the liana hanging its scarlet and orange clusters a
hundred feet overhead across some stream; tough ratan cables a
thousand feet long, knotting together a whole grove; avenues of
intersecting branches, like the aisles of a Gothic cathedral, covered
with yellow flowers of a most delicious fragrance; the white and
purple of the pemea, combining the beauties of the rhododendron and
horse-chestnut; the blue-blossoming Thunbergia; the Burmese Amherstia,
like a giant fuchsia on the scale of an oak. Then there is the
graceful palm tribe――the palmyra; the date; the lofty areca with its
sweet-scented buds and great clusters of nuts; the tufted-crowned,
sea-loving cocoanut, whose fruit supplies food, drink and oil, its
fibrous casing ropes, vessels and mats, and its plaited leaves dishes
and the thatch of the native’s cottage, the large stalks fences, and
whose slender bole is adapted for innumerable uses from a post to a
canoe. Underneath all this Oriental shade a lovely confusion of fungi,
mosses, and every variety of ferns, from delicate maiden-hair to the
tall fronds fifteen and twenty feet high.
[Illustration: BIRD OF PARADISE.]
Birds of brilliant plumage and beautiful form inhabit these Oriental
forests――long-legged swamp-fowls, tall as a man and swift as a
greyhound; paroquets with green bodies and scarlet beaks fly screaming
from tree to tree; the snowy pelican, the white ibis, the argus, the
blue-jay, the black and white robin; birds of paradise and
humming-birds. The sea-swallow builds her nest in the hollows and
caves of the rocky coast, and doves and pigeons are in endless
variety. Winged things of myriad kinds troop, great and small――immense
butterflies, jewel-like beetles, brilliant dragon-flies, thousands of
moths――while at dusk swarms of fire-flies illumine the glades, and the
night is noisy with the flitting and buzzing of the insect world.
Animals fierce and large as those of Africa infest these jungles;
their footprints are all along the paths――wild elephants and boars,
the tapir, the royal tiger, the one-horned rhinoceros, the buffalo,
herds of deer, wild hogs and squirrels, afford a sportsman plenty of
use for his gun; uncanny flying-foxes, and chattering monkeys linked,
chain-fashion, hand to tail, or pelting each other with fruit and
nuts. Innumerable water-snakes glide among the reeds; the cobra or
hooded serpent is abundant; surly alligators, with their ugly red
mouths wide open, and huge saurians bask in sunny spots or float like
logs upon the surface of the water; leeches abound in the swampy
lowlands; frogs and turtles and tortoises, larger than any ever seen
in temperate regions, throng the marshes and streams.
[Illustration: MONKEYS PLAYING WITH A CROCODILE.]
Indo-China also offers a first field of inquiry to the geologist. The
peninsula is very rich in minerals; gold is said to be most productive
at the foot of the “Three Hundred Peaks;” copper and tin are found in
large quantities; silver in connection with copper and lead; and there
are unquestionably large unworked deposits of coal and petroleum.
Precious stones, brilliant diamonds, deep-blue sapphires, rubies of
finest color, emeralds, topazes, rock-crystals and other gems used to
ornament the crowns of kings and emperors are a part of the natural
wealth.
* * * * *
Such, then, are the general characteristics and geographical outlines
of the Indo-Chinese peninsula.
CHAPTER II.
_SIGHT-SEEING IN BANGKOK._
To give you some idea of Bangkok, the capital city of Siam, I will
imagine myself once more a resident there, with you for a visitor, and
will invite you this fine morning to take a seat in our family boat,
which is at the landing, and we will go out upon the river.
It is a strange city, unlike any in the Western World, and if we
cannot “see the lions,” we may perhaps “see the elephants” and many
novel and interesting things. You have already become somewhat
familiar with the copper-colored complexion, the black eyes, black
hair and black teeth, the scanty clothing and shaven heads of the
people.
We will confine our excursion to-day to the Menam River, the Broadway
of Bangkok, while the hundreds of canals that intersect it at every
angle may be considered the less-important streets. You find the river
a busy scene, but need have no fears of a collision with any of the
innumerable boats of every size and description that pass, for the
Siamese are very skillful boatmen.
Your attention is already attracted by the beautiful _wat_, or temple,
with its surroundings, on our right. Is it not a beautiful spot, so
prettily laid out with fine shade trees, flowering plants and
well-swept walks? There are about two hundred wats in Bangkok
consecrated to the worship of Buddha. Some of them have groves several
acres in extent, containing pagodas, image-houses, priests’ dwellings
and salas, or lounging-places. They occupy the pleasantest parts of
the city, and the deluded people spend vast sums on these temples and
their idols, expecting in this way to make merit for themselves. You
will not wonder that they are anxious to make all the merit they can
when their religion teaches them that at death their soul enters the
body of some animal――a bird, it may be, or a snake, an elephant or a
buffalo――unless they have made enough merit to be born something
better and higher.
[Illustration: BANGKOK ON THE MENAM.]
Observe the exterior of this temple. What a gay appearance the
neat-colored tiles give the roof! The front, how laboriously carved
and how richly gilded! The doors and windows too are more or less
carved and gilded. Now we will go inside. The scenes with which these
inner walls are so gayly painted are chiefly from the life of Buddha,
and see, in the farther end, on an ornamental throne, is an immense
gilt image of this deity in a sitting posture. This is made of brick
and mortar, but idols are sometimes of gold, silver, brass, ivory,
wood and stone. All have the same self-complacent, sleepy look. Look!
a worshiper has followed us in. Watch his movements. See him prostrate
himself before the idol, touching his forehead three times to the
floor, and now he lays his simple offering of flowers upon the altar.
Mark the complacency of his countenance as he leaves, no doubt feeling
that he has added not a little to his stock of merit.
[Illustration: HOUSE-SPARROW.]
But we must return to our boat and move on up the river, for I hope to
have time to visit the royal temple and perhaps some others.
Ah! there are some priests. I feared we should not meet any of these
yellow-robed gentry. How strange they look with shaven heads and
eyebrows! Such as these are the religious teachers of the country. A
few years ago there were ten thousand in Bangkok alone and some thirty
thousand in the kingdom――a perfect army (with few exceptions) of
self-conceited idlers; but I am happy to tell you that their number
has now greatly diminished. They live on the charity of the people,
going about every morning from house to house among their
parishioners, with their alms-bowl, and with a fruit-bag slung over
one shoulder. The old mother or grandmother is up at an early hour to
have rice cooked and ready for them. She puts a ladleful of hot rice
into the bowl of each as he passes, and a handful of fruit into his
fruit-bag. Do they thank her? By no means. She ought rather to thank
them, for they have given her an opportunity to make merit. They
collect sufficient for their morning and noonday meal. Their religion
forbids them to take food after midday.
Notice the boats. Some, used for trading, are loaded with rice, sugar,
salt, cotton, oil, dried fish, or dye-woods, as the case may be. Some
are at once boat, shop and dwelling. In the distance is a nobleman’s
boat, propelled by a dozen or two paddlers. What an odd little house
in the centre! Do you see how much at his ease His Lordship is
reclining, with two or three attendants down on their elbows and knees
before him? Look yonder at that small boat paddled by a little child
five or six years old. How unconcerned the little fellow seems as he
moves about entirely alone, his boat hardly larger than himself, the
edge scarcely two inches above the water! Men, women and children in
this country can swim; should this child upset he would look out for
himself and think very little of the matter.
Many smaller craft are market-boats, with fruits and vegetables for
sale. Notice some of the fruits as they pass. That one nearly as large
as a child’s head and resembling a huge orange is the shaddock or
pomelow. This large one, which smells so very disagreeably, and which
is so completely encased in spines as if to say, “Touch me not!” is
the far-famed durian, which the natives consider the king of fruits.
It weighs from five to ten pounds. This small round mahogany-colored
fruit is the delicious mangosteen――that golden one, the luscious
mango. Then there are the rich custard-apple, the refreshing orange,
the blushing rhambutan, the pineapple, the banana, etc.
You see the flags of many different nations flying from the ships, of
which none are more beautiful than the “star-spangled banner” of our
native land. There are also scores of steam-yachts on the rivers of
Siam now, owned by the natives, but when I first came here there was
not one to be seen. You ask what these strange-looking craft, moored
by immense ratan cables, are? They are Chinese junks, and it would be
hard to tell where the Chinese obtained their model. The wonder is
that such clumsy, unshapely, unsightly things can be made to traverse
the sea. And the glowing colors in which they are painted, red always
predominating! And don’t overlook the large eye painted on each bow.
The Chinese say, “No got eye, how can see?”
But you must not get so much interested in the boats and the fruits as
not to notice the _homes_ of this people. Many of the princes and
nobles now have fine houses handsomely furnished. The missionaries,
foreign consuls, merchants and wealthy Chinese have good, substantial
dwellings. The homes of the common people, you see, are small, of one
story, and thatched with the leaves of the attap palm. Most of them
are neither painted nor whitewashed. Those upon the land are placed on
posts six feet high, and the sides of many of them are made of bamboos
split and woven together, forming a kind of basket-work.
But thousands of the people live in _floating_ houses, which you have
observed lining both banks of the river. Notice them particularly now,
for they are one of the peculiarities of this Eastern city. They are
but one story high, you see, and built of boards and placed on rafts
of large bamboos, which rise and fall with the tide, and hence are
called _floating houses_. These rafts must be renewed every two or
three years. The houses are kept in their place by large posts on each
side driven deep into the muddy bed of the river. They do sometimes,
however, get detached from their moorings, though fastened to them by
rings of ratan, and float up or down the river with the tide. These
houses have some advantages over all others, for if neighbors are
disagreeable or a fire breaks out the occupants have only to move off
with the tide, house, furniture and all, to some other spot.
[Illustration: FLOATING STORES AT BANGKOK.]
You will observe that many of them are open in front with a veranda,
and are shops. This one seems to have a variety, and we will stop a
few moments. You perceive there are no showcases, but the smaller and
more fanciful articles are displayed on these shelves, arranged one
above another, like a flower-stand, to the height of some three feet.
Are you waiting for the shopkeeper? The personage seated on the floor
by the side of his goods is none other than he. He seems quite
indifferent about selling, but look about and see what of all this
mixed medley you will purchase. There, in the way of dry goods, are
bleached and unbleached and turkey-red muslins, Siamese waist-cloths
and some fading calicoes. Here are a few boxes of tea, some native
umbrellas, a bunch of peacock-feathers, tigers’ skins and tigers’
bones, piles of coarse crockery, pieces of matting, etc. There are
also pretty little brown teapots and tiny cups, all of which at home
would be considered toys for children, but, I assure you, they are as
large as any used by the tea-drinkers of this country. There is a set
now on a little tray behind you that are in daily use. Ah! you want to
purchase a set with the tray, do you? Well, you have made a very good
selection, but the shopman may not fancy your flat silver coins,
though they are fast being introduced. Make your selection and I will
pay your bills. I have yet to show you the money of the country. See!
a stamped silver bullet, with a small notch cut out of one side. What
does it remind you of? I do not wonder you smile. This largest piece
is a _tical_, and is worth sixty cents; this next size is a _salung_,
or fifteen cents; this smallest a _fuang_, or seven and a half cents.
If I had come shopping with you a few years ago, and you had wanted
any smaller change, I should have used cowrie-shells, of which it took
one thousand to equal a dime. The shopman is paid, and now with the
Siamese good-bye, _Chah! lah! pi kaun_, we must move on. Do not think
these are the only shopping-places in the city, for besides several
fine foreign stores we might, if we had time, go up into the Chinese
bazaar, which is about a mile long. We should find there tailors,
blacksmiths, druggists, goldsmiths, idol-makers, dyers, etc.
We are just passing a floating-house restaurant. We will move slowly
and see what they have――pork steaks, ducks, fowls, hot rice and curry,
dried fish and vegetables. Shall we call? No? Well, then, we will take
our own lunch that we have brought with us, and, refreshed by it, be
ready to visit a royal temple which we shall soon reach.
Notice this large canal on our right, for it extends entirely around
the city proper, following the line of the city-wall, which is five
miles in circumference, till it meets the river again.
Do you notice that smoke rising in yonder temple-ground? It is from a
funeral pile, for in this country the dead are _burned_, unless they
committed suicide, were struck by lightning or died of cholera or some
other disease causing sudden death, in which case they are considered
as deficient in merit and undeserving of burning. You will be
surprised when I tell you that two armsful of wood are sufficient to
reduce a body to ashes.
Look at that lofty tower on the left, rising full two hundred feet,
with such exquisite proportions. It is considered the finest pagoda in
Bangkok, but I think the four tall, gracefully-tapered spires in the
wat-ground directly opposite are not much behind in beauty. Under the
long, tiled roof near them reclines an image of Buddha which is
perhaps the largest idol in the world. There is a huge one on this
side that towers up seventy feet as it sits cross-legged, but we will
cross over and visit the larger one, the “Sleeping Idol.” Let us land
and look about a while before we enter the principal temple. You see
there are other temple-buildings and small pagodas, besides the usual
houses for the hundreds of priests. In one of these temples are to be
seen four hundred images of Buddha, life-size and each seated on a
gilded throne. Now we will go in and see the immense image. The temple
itself is two hundred feet long, and the idol at least one hundred and
sixty feet long. You see it lies on its side, as if asleep. It is made
of brick and heavily gilded. I suppose the gold-leaf is of many
thicknesses in some places, for worshipers generally stick on a fresh
piece. As we have our yard-measure, let us see how long the feet are.
Five yards and more! and each toe is one yard long! Buddha’s toes and
fingers are supposed to have been all of one length, and look at the
soles of the great feet, so beautifully inlaid with figures in
mother-of-pearl!
But come, we must not linger longer here. The palace of His Majesty is
near, and we must get a glimpse of this, though I fear its exterior
will not be as imposing as you thought. The palace-grounds are
enclosed by a wall about a mile in circumference. Here are the
audience-halls, the mint, arsenal, halls of justice, museum, royal
chapel, and separated from them by an inner wall is the royal harem,
which is in itself a compact little town, with several streets, a
bazaar, a temple, pleasure-gardens and the homes of the numerous
wives, sisters and other relatives of the king.
This gate in the city-wall will give us access to the stables of the
elephants. Were it early in the morning we should see them coming down
to the river to bathe and drink.
Our walk takes us through a market, but you must not look for neatness
or order, only a confused display of vegetables and fruits,
betel-nuts, cigars, odd-looking cakes, eggs, salted and fresh fish,
dried meats. But why this commotion? Ah! the reason is plain, for
there, with his train of attendants, comes a prince borne rapidly
along in an open palanquin on the shoulders of men, and the traders
and customers must make way for him. Ten years ago all, as if impelled
by one impulse, would have respectfully dropped down on elbows and
knees, but the present young king has done away with this servile
custom. Ten years ago hat or cap, stockings or shoes, would not have
been needed to denote his greatness, the number of his retinue showing
that. Notice his attendants. One carries an immense state umbrella
over the head of His Lordship; then there is the sword-bearer and the
pipe-bearer; one carries his gold betel-box and tray, another his
spittoon; one has his lighted match-rope, another his fan, and another
his golden vessel of drinking-water. Now the prince has passed, and we
may go on our way to the elephant-stables, which are very neat. Let us
venture in. You need not fear that they are not securely fastened by
those large ropes to the posts. How incessantly they sway their great
trunks, as if weary of confinement! The burnished metal rings which
encircle the white tusks of the larger ones look like gold, but their
small peculiar eyes forbid close examination. These bundles of fresh
grass by the door are cut by state criminals, whose lifelong business
it is each morning to furnish sufficient for the day. There are
several other stables, each having three or more elephants, but we
will not prolong our walk, for I think you must be satisfied with
sight-seeing for one day. The tide will be with us, and we will return
at once to the mission premises, some miles below us, leaving other
objects of interest till another day. I should like you to visit the
royal mint, the spacious, elegant building where the curious money is
made, and you ought not to return to America without attending the
centennial exhibition, for Bangkok is now (in 1882) one hundred years
old. It is said that the royal jewelry there on exhibition is valued
at about five million dollars. There is a pyramid of untold wealth
which from base to summit is brilliant with rings, crowns, rich
chains, bracelets and anklets, and boxes with diamonds and precious
stones of every description. Light is thrown on it by reflectors, so
that the beautiful things are seen to the best possible advantage.
As we came up the river I did not point out to you our _upper_
Presbyterian mission-station. It is just here on our right. The fine
building is the girls’ boarding-school, the first in the kingdom of
Siam. The pretty chapel connected with the school was built by gifts
from American women.
We are just passing on our left the Baptist mission to the Chinese,
and the little English chapel, where there is English service every
Sabbath afternoon, conducted by the missionaries. And now here we are
at our own landing again.
CHAPTER III.
_TOURING IN SIAM._
In the cool season in Siam, or in the months of December and January,
the missionaries frequently go in boats into the country, to be absent
two, three, or four weeks at a time, and as there are no hotels in
Siam they live in their boats day and night. These boats have a snug
little house in the centre, about seven by five and a half feet, and
are propelled by six boatmen, who use long oars and stand behind them
when rowing. They are paid about twenty cents a day, and their rice is
given them. The missionaries take with them hundreds of religious
books and tracts in the Siamese language, which they distribute as
they travel from village to village, preaching and giving instruction
to all who will listen.
Perhaps you will be interested in an account of one of these mission
tours taken by Dr. House and myself.
One fine December morning, after seeing our books, clothing, bedding,
provisions, dishes, cooking utensils, and even our table, all snugly
stowed away in the little boat, we left our quiet home in Bangkok, the
capital city.
[Illustration: MISSIONARY-BOAT FOR TOURING IN SIAM.]
Ascending the beautiful Menam River, we made our way among numerous
boats of every size and description, ships displaying the flags of
several different nations, and gayly-painted, clumsy Chinese junks
that were moored by their huge cables in the stream, and on, on we
went, leaving the busy, idolatrous city behind us. At five o’clock we
stopped at a pleasant Buddhist temple by the river-side for our
evening meal. This finished, we moved on for an hour or two after
dark, and then moored our boat for the night by fastening it to two
bamboo poles which our men had planted in the soft mud near the bank.
Here let me tell you what our sleeping arrangements were for each
night. What had been our dining- and sitting-room through the day was
soon converted into a bedroom, and in a very simple way too. The seats
of our boat were arranged along the sides, omnibus-fashion, and,
filling up the space between these with boards made for the purpose,
we had our bedstead, and our boat-cushions made our bed. Having spread
our bedding and hung up the indispensable mosquito-net by strings from
the four corners of the roof, we were ready to commend ourselves to
the kind care of Him who never slumbers, and lay us down for a good
night’s sleep.
The boatmen spread their mats on the deck outside the cabin, and,
putting up a kind of temporary roof made of leaves fastened together,
they were protected from the dew, and were contented and happy.
Generally at daylight every morning the men would move on a while
before breakfast. We always preferred to stop for meals or for the
night near some temple or village.
While taking our dinner one day the two windows of our boat on the
side of the river-bank being open, the people who were collected there
seemed much pleased to see us use knives, forks and spoons. It was a
novel sight to them, as they use the fingers instead. An aged couple
watched us with much seeming interest for some time, and then the
husband said to his wife, “_Kin yark nuk_” (They eat with great
difficulty).
When we first went to Siam not one woman or little girl in one hundred
could read, although all the boys are taught by the priests in the
temples to read and to write. One day a very bright, interesting
little girl, twelve years old perhaps, came to our boat to see the
strangers, and when asked if she could read, she did not answer yes or
no, but with surprise exclaimed, “Why, I’m a _girl_!” as if we ought
to have known better than to ask a girl such a question.
One day, while our cook was preparing our simple meal of rice and
curry, we walked out into the pleasant grounds of a temple. Here we
found a fine large tree whose beautiful white, wax-like flowers
attracted us by their fragrance. While gathering some of them a young
man came up and spoke to us. Fearing he would think we were going to
offer the flowers to the idols in the temple, Dr. House said, “I am
not going to offer these, as you would, to idols which can neither see
nor smell them, but shall give them to my wife, who can enjoy them.”
The tree seemed almost alive with gay butterflies. Several priests had
gathered about us, and when they were asked if all this life and
happiness and beauty did not make them think there must be a wise and
good Creator who made the trees, flowers and butterflies with their
gay dress, they replied “_Pen eng_” (They made themselves). Oh, is it
not sad that the religion of this poor people teaches them there is no
living God, no Creator who made this beautiful world? The dead god
Buddha that they worship, whose images are in every temple, was but a
man like themselves, and, now that he has left the world, knows and
cares nothing about it.
An old priest begged our umbrella. The doctor said, “If I give it to
you, very soon you will want to make merit, and will perhaps spread it
over some senseless idol of brick and mortar that cannot feel the heat
as we do.” Soon after, as they followed us to the boat, we actually
saw an old umbrella which the wind had blown from a dilapidated image
it had sheltered. When reminded of what had just been said, they
laughed heartily, but I fear were not convinced of the folly of doing
such things.
In the listening group one day was a gray-headed man, who asked, “Is
Jesus the same as God?” “What must we do that the Lord Jesus may save
us?” “What deeds of merit must we do to be followers of the true God?”
When we told him that we left our home, our parents and our friends,
and journeyed many thousand miles over the sea, on purpose to tell him
and his countrymen of the religion of Jesus, the only Saviour from
sin, he thanked us. We gave him a gospel tract on prayer, hoping that
the light he had received might lead him to pray for more.
On one occasion we stopped at an old preaching-place to rest. Let me
tell you what a queer place it was for a sermon. It was a large room
open on all sides and decorated with sticks of very small bamboo, to
which were pasted small triangular pieces of white paper. Thousands of
these were clustered fancifully together. From the ceiling in the
centre of the room hung a piece of cloth two or three yards long, on
which was a coarse picture of Buddha with a disciple on each side of
him, and above them in the clouds angels with flowers. Below them, on
a black ground to represent darkness, were painted persons suffering
the torments of hell and the priests trying to assist them.
The pulpit was a kind of high, armed chair, coarsely decorated. In
this the yellow-robed priests sit cross-legged and preach in a
singsong tone. Seeing two images of Buddha there, we told those
assembled of the sin and folly of trusting in them. A young man
replied at once, “How should we know better, when there is no one to
tell us? I beg to listen while you tell us;” and he did listen very
attentively. His question touchingly reminded us of the words of Paul:
“How shall they call on Him in whom they have not believed? and how
shall they believe in Him of whom they have not heard? and how shall
they hear without a preacher? and how shall they preach, except they
be sent?” (Rom. 10:14).
One day we visited an image-house, and found one idol that had fallen
over backward, another without a head, another without arms. When we
came out an old priest asked us if we had been in to worship. We
replied, “No, indeed! What we saw there were objects of pity rather
than of adoration. They cannot take care of themselves, cannot hold
themselves up; what can they do for you or for us?”
Thus we went from one village to another, conversing with hundreds of
the people and giving away our books until they were gone.
A VISIT TO THE “MECCA” OF THE SIAMESE.
Every February multitudes of the Siamese visit Prabat. The word means
sacred foot, and it is supposed that Buddha left a clear imprint of
his foot in a rock on a mountain there, which is a standing proof to
all his followers that he once not only really lived upon earth, but
that he visited Siam.
[Illustration: PRABAT.]
Let me tell you of a visit Dr. House and I once made to this sacred
spot. As most of the traveling in Siam is in boats, we left home in
ours one fine day in February, taking with us some Christian books and
tracts. We ascended the beautiful Menam River, passing many
thatched-roof villages and scores of temples. At Ayuthia, the old
capital of the kingdom, we took the eastern branch of the river, and
on the evening of the third day we reached Ta Rua, where we made our
way to a landing-place through an immense number of boats of every
description. From here we were to proceed by land to Prabat, a
distance of about fourteen miles, and after engaging an elephant and
making other arrangements, little time was left us for rest.
At two o’clock in the morning we were awakened and told that the
elephant was in readiness. It was quite dark, and as by the dim
torchlight I saw before me the huge form of the creature I was to
mount, I confess to considerable reluctance and trembling. My husband
climbed up first, and then, the elephant putting out his knee to
receive me as it had him, I stepped upon it and with help managed to
reach my lofty perch. The driver kept his place astride the creature’s
neck. One of the men scrambled up behind, and we were off, leaving the
others to follow us soon in a buffalo-cart. It was too dark for any
but a practiced eye to see the road, and in less than half an hour our
driver contrived to lose the way, so that until daylight we groped on
through the jungle, not knowing into what pit the beast might fall or
when it might brush against a tree and throw us off. Committing
ourselves to the great Care-taker, we watched for the first rays of
morning light to guide us on our course, and when some time after
sunrise we struck upon the beaten path we were happy and grateful
indeed. Now I could see where I was, and found myself seated in a
howdah, or covered saddle, made of strong wood. The top was a kind of
basket-work lined with leaves, and so arranged as to protect us from
sun and rain and from branches of trees as we passed. The elephant was
about nine feet high, and the seat was raised at least a foot above
his back. To novices the elephant-ride is apt to be rather alarming.
Our road much of the way lay through a beautiful piece of woods, the
trees sometimes forming an arch over our heads. We passed multitudes
of pilgrims going or returning, some riding on elephants, some in
buffalo-carts and some on foot; also groups of natives seated by the
wayside with _kowlan_ (rice cooked in joints of bamboo), palm-tree
sugar, wild honey in the comb, etc., to sell to passers-by. I enjoyed
the ride and the novelty of the scenes around me very much. The motion
and the creaking sound reminded us of an old-fashioned stage-coach on
springs. The driver was asked how so huge an animal could be so easily
controlled by man. He held up his stick, at the end of which was, not
a lash, but a pointed iron spike or hook about three inches long and
as large as one’s finger. He said, “This is what makes them
submissive.” Well may the poor creatures fear it, for it is sometimes
driven most unmercifully into their heads.
Our kind heavenly Father watched over us, our beast behaved nobly, and
we arrived at Prabat safely about ten o’clock in the morning, instead
of at seven, as we should if we had not lost our way. Here, nestling
under the rocky sides of the mountain, were several _wats_,
or monasteries, with their many dwellings for the priests,
preaching-places, and huge image-houses, like the one seen on the
right of the picture (p. 103). Hundreds of bamboo huts had been newly
erected for the accommodation of the multitudes there assembled. The
air was filled with the melody of sweet-toned bells and the lively
tinkling music of numerous Siamese bands. A newly-vacated priests’
house in one of the monasteries was soon put at our disposal. It
contained but a single small room, with two windows and a little low
door. There was a veranda on one side, where our servants could be
accommodated. Travelers, in this country especially, must not be
fastidious, and we were too glad to secure the shelter and the
retirement the little dormitory promised to be disposed to look
farther. On taking possession we found an old rice-pot, remnants of
priests’ yellow robes and plenty of dirt. One of our men soon disposed
of the rubbish and made all as clean as he could without broom or
water. Furnishing the room with the mats and cushions brought with us
from the boat, we seated ourselves upon them Siamese fashion and with
good appetites partook of our midday meal.
Before us we could see the picturesque mountain with its many
white-spired pagodas and the splendid shrine or temple which is built
over the sacred footprint. In the picture it is the elegant structure
which you see, with a seven-storied roof terminating in a graceful
tapering spire (p. 103). The whole being richly gilded, the rays of
the sun resting upon it made it very beautiful. Having dined, we made
our way to this temple. The rocky platform on which it stands is
reached by some fifty or more steps (not seen in the picture), which
devout Buddhists always ascend on their knees. Its outer walls are
covered with bright mosaic. The large double doors are beautifully
inlaid with figures of mother-of-pearl. On the inner walls are painted
scenes from the life of Buddha. The apartment is about thirty feet
square, and the floor is covered with plates of what they say is
silver. On the walls hangs what is said to be a representation of the
footprint, set with jewels and made of beaten gold. It is about four
feet long and one and a half broad. Of what is worshiped as the
footprint itself we could see nothing but a dark oblong opening in the
floor like a small open grave. It is enclosed in a railing about a
foot high, said to be of solid silver, and over it is an elegant gilt
canopy with curtains of gold cloth at the sides.
There were many worshipers within the temple, and a great number of
small wax candles or tapers burning. The poor devotees entered the
sacred spot on their knees, and, crawling beside the footprint, bowed
the head three times to the floor and laid their offering within the
enclosure. Then, crawling to some water that had probably been blessed
by the priests, they sprinkled their heads, and left the room, as they
entered it, upon their knees. Some who perhaps were too poor to make
any offering took up a priest’s fan and with all the solemnity
possible fanned the footprint. All these ceremonies were performed in
perfect silence, and the place seemed truly solemn. Oh, how my heart
ached to tell them the folly of all these things, and to point them to
the almighty One whose footprints can everywhere be traced in nature!
When we were returning from the temple a messenger came running after
us and invited us to the house of his master, who proved to be a
nobleman of high rank from Bangkok. We had a very pleasant visit.
Oranges and wild honey were served, and we drank tea poured from a
massive gold teapot into tiny china cups. Many heard that afternoon
the message we had brought. Reaching our house at evening, we spread
our mats and took our seats upon the veranda. A crowd of people, who,
like all the rest, had come there to make merit, soon collected around
us. They supposed we also came to make merit, and there was no lack of
opportunity for us to do so by giving to the various beggars that
presented themselves. First came two distressed lepers. One, not able
to walk, hitched himself along on the ground. He beat a Siamese drum
with the stumps of his fingers, while the other beat two pieces of
bamboo together, both singing at the same time the sad tale of their
sufferings and inability to earn a living. Complimenting our
generosity in advance, they begged for money. As they were really
objects of pity, we gave each of them a small silver coin, upon which
they broke forth in a shower of blessings: “May you flourish in this
state of being and in the next――have elephants, horses and servants,
silver and gold, rice, salt and every good thing! May your age be
lengthened out to a hundred years, a thousand years! May you have
handsome children――sons who shall be priests and head priests! May you
live in a well-built house with many roofs!” etc. A blind man came
singing and beating two pieces of brass together; then an old man with
a withered arm; and so they kept coming as long as we would listen to
them. We improved the opportunity to tell these poor creatures the
story of the blessed Jesus, who, while upon earth, healed the leper,
restored the withered hand and gave sight to the blind, and who is now
both able and willing to heal the greater maladies of the soul.
The next day was the Sabbath, and during morning worship with our
servants many came around the door to listen. After worship Dr. House
left me to receive any visitors who might call for conversation or
books, and went forth on his labor of love, spending the day till dusk
among the people. Hundreds heard from his lips of the great Being who
made them and of the Redeemer who died to save them, and among them
were many attentive listeners.
Monday morning we left for home. About eight o’clock there were two
elephants at the door for ourselves and our men. This time we mounted
ours with the help of a ladder placed against his side, and now, more
at home in the lofty saddle, I quite enjoyed my ride. No special
adventure befell us on the way, and about one o’clock we reached our
boat and found all in it safe. Paying our boat-keeper his moderate
charge for the care of it during our absence, and having rested and
dined, we were soon in our boat and again on our homeward way. We
visited the villages on the banks, distributed our remaining books,
and talked with the people in their homes and the priests in their
_wats_, or temples.
CHAPTER IV.
_IN AND ABOUT PETCHABUREE._
Our mission-boat, with its drawers and cupboards and shelves for
storing away food, clothes, etc., awaits us at Bangkok. Rowers are
hired for twenty-four cents per day, with enough rice for food. We
start out with the rising tide in our favor. The boat moves steadily
on. Reading, conversation and sleeping fill our time. At last we
notice that the houses along the banks are larger and better built,
and, passing around a bend of the river, we see our mission compound,
consisting of three large brick houses and one smaller. Two of the
houses are occupied by the mission family; the third is the
Petchaburee Home for Siamese girls, in charge of the missionary
ladies. The chapel front is used for worship each morning. The small
house is Dr. Sturge’s hospital.
Leaving the boat, we climb the steps on the left bank, and enter the
yard with its green grass and blooming flowers. We are gladly
welcomed, for our arrival here is a great treat.
[Illustration: HOUSE AT PETCHABUREE.]
Siam is one of the hot countries where everything moves slowly. Our
boat-trip of from thirty-six to forty-eight hours has made us glad to
rest till evening. When it is cooler we will take a walk to the
nearest mountain, which is about three-quarters of a mile from the
mission compound. The road along the river-bank is forty or fifty feet
wide and very smooth, and shaded on either side by beautiful trees. We
pass several native houses, and come to a beautiful grassy plain,
beyond which are rice-fields reaching to the foot of “The Mountain of
the Highest Heaven.” On its summit stands the large royal summer
palace, built by the late supreme king, whose white buildings glitter
in the sun and form a beautiful contrast to the green ranges of
distant hills. His Majesty and his court spend part of every year
here. A paved walk with steps leads up the hill. Passing some plain
two-story brick buildings, you come to the wide terraces and
surrounding barracks of His Majesty’s private apartments, the walls of
which are covered with rough paintings representing some of the
Buddhistic fables. The floor of the king’s reception-room is paved
with marble blocks about a foot square, and at one side is a raised
seat for the king. Royalty in Siam never sits on a level with common
people. A very pretty Brussels mat is placed for the king’s feet, and
when he visits the palace a set of stuffed chairs covered with blue
brocade satin are brought to ornament the place.
There are a number of smaller buildings surrounding the palace for the
numerous attendants of the king. On the very summit of the hill,
separate from the palace, is a large audience-hall――a long, low room,
almost entirely bare, with a semi-circular throne, consisting of four
stone steps, at one end. Two large Siamese paintings――“The Reception
of the French Ambassadors at Court” and “Bonzes Worshiping
Gaudama”――are painted on the side-walls. There is also a round brick
tower about thirty feet in height, used as an observatory. The view
from this tower is enchanting――on one side extensive fields of ripened
paddy, groves of sugar-palms and cocoanuts, with here and there a hill
rising abruptly from the plain; the city, the river, the canals, and
far off to the east the blue waters of the gulf; west and south there
extend at least three distinct ranges of low, thickly-wooded hills.
If it were earlier in the day we would ascend the mountain and visit
the Buddhist temple and large pagoda near, and measure the great image
of Buddha, each foot seven feet long, with fingers and toes as large
around as the body of a stout person; but it is nearing sunset and we
turn our faces homeward.
Our road now leads through rice-fields, which reach to the foot of the
mountain. We meet people coming home from their work in the fields.
Some of them have poles across their shoulders, to which are attached
bundles of sticks for fuel or perhaps sheaves of rice which they have
gathered. Some stop to speak to us or to look at us, and we give them
a tract or one of the Gospels; but we must not tarry, for when the sun
is gone in these tropical countries it is soon dark. The brick
building a little to the right as we return is the Presbyterian church
of Petchaburee.
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE MOUNTAINS OF PETCHABUREE.]
The next morning we take an early start for the Royal Cave. It is too
far to walk, so we ride over the road which we took before to the foot
of the mountain, then off to the right, a mile, to another mountain.
We leave the conveyance and climb the mountain-side to a gate, which
we enter, and find steps which lead down into the cave. The nooks and
corners are filled with idols and figures representing the miseries of
the lost, and the bottom of the cave is paved with tiles and
surrounded on all sides with rows of idols, large and small. The cave
itself is grand, with its columns of stalactites and stalagmites. From
one of the former water drops so fast that a plaster basin has been
made to receive it. This water is very cool and pleasant to drink. An
opening at the top of the cave admits the sunshine and brightens the
whole scene. Here are two large rooms, the second unpaved, but having
rows of idols, and being lighted from the top like the first. Passing
through this room, we come into a narrow way as dark as possible,
leading into a very small space lighted from above, where we find a
very long ladder. Up, up, we go, and again we find ourselves on the
mountain-side. We are glad to return home, for the heat has grown very
oppressive while we have been in the cave.
At about three o’clock we will take a walk to the city to see the
market, and as we stroll along the bank of the river we pass the three
brick houses belonging to the ex-regent of Siam. These are thickly
shaded by large trees, and the green lawn is bounded by a hedge. Here
we enter a street of the city, and soon come to a massive bridge, and,
turning to the left, cross the river and find ourselves upon the main
street of the city. It seems strange to call it a city, and yet its
population is estimated at twenty thousand. The streets are very
narrow and have no sidewalks. Some of the houses are brick and some
bamboo. The stores have an open room next the street, with a little
porch where the salesman or saleswoman sits. The people who have
brought articles to market for sale have arranged their wares on
either side the street, and now we are surrounded by fish, pork,
vegetables and fruits in such abundance that it is difficult to make
one’s way among them.
As we pass up the street we come to a large open gate on either side.
That on the left opens into the governor’s grounds. His Excellency is
hearing a case. The court-room is simply a shed, where the governor
sits on a chair or bench, while the accused and accuser, the witnesses
and judges, sit on the ground at his feet. The gate on the right opens
into a yard surrounding the new courthouse, a good brick building,
from which a walk leads to the river. This river is like one street of
the city, for boats are passing and repassing constantly.
Leaving the market, we pass on and find the houses built farther
apart, and there are more shade-trees. The people on either side are
cooking their rice, and some are already eating. Soon we come to a
nice clean cross-street, and, following this, we reach another running
parallel with the river, and the prettiest street of the city. It has
plenty of shade and several temples, including one in Chinese
architecture, highly ornamented. In the temple-grounds are some very
pretty flowers, and when we reach the governor’s place we find a
really beautiful garden, with a summer-house covered with blooming
vines standing in the midst, surrounded by a variety of well-selected
and beautifully-arranged flowers. A little farther on we come to a
cross-street that brings us to the vice-governor’s place, back across
the main street and to the bridge. We pause here for our final look at
the lovely scene. Up and down the river boats are passing constantly.
On either side of the stream are stately palms, the spreading mango
and the feathery branches of the bamboo. Facing the bridge where we
stand is Palace Mountain, with its sides dressed in green and its
summit crowned with the brilliancy of the setting sun. We gaze on its
splendor, and as we stand hushed by the beauty all about us, our
hearts go up in prayer that it may be but a symbol of the beauty of
holiness that shall soon cover this fair land.
CHAPTER V.
_THE ANIMALS OF SIAM._
Provided with a tropical climate, the forests and jungles, the air and
the water of Siam, teem with animal life. The elephant heads the list.
It is said that the king can muster thousands of trained elephants for
service in war. Tigers and bears, rhinoceri, deer, wild goats and
porcupines are numerous. The bones of the tiger are sold as a tonic,
and rhinoceros-horns sell in Bangkok for more than their weight in
silver. The cattle are small, and are used only to tread out the grain
or with pack-saddles to transport rice, silk or army supplies. The
buffalo, or ungainly water-ox, takes the place of our oxen. The
Siamese have no milch cattle, and know nothing of butter or cheese,
and their religion forbids them to slaughter for food.
While the Siamese have great veneration for the white elephant, the
white monkey, the white squirrel and some other white animals, they
have a great dislike to a white cat. Their cats differ from ours in
color. Some have long tails and some short ones; some have curled
tails that look as if they had a knot tied in them, and some have no
tails at all.
Miserable yellow dogs of the pariah race may be counted by thousands.
They are a great annoyance to missionaries when they go into the
country distributing books from house to house. We have had seven or
eight rush out at us from one house, and it was only by the greatest
watchfulness on our part and that of our servants that they could be
kept from pouncing upon us. It really requires a brave heart to
venture among them on such occasions.
[Illustration: MONKEYS.]
When out in the country in our boats we have seen scores of monkeys
with their young leaping from branch to branch on the trees or playing
their antics on the bank, and thousands of bats, that prey upon the
fruit-gardens by night, and during the day may be seen hanging by
their feet in their shady haunts.
[Illustration: JAVA SPARROWS.]
Siam has a variety of birds――the snow-white rice-bird, the kingfisher,
the gay peacock, the pheasant, the parrot, and thieving crows of
amazing number and audacity. There are many singing birds, among them
a species of thrush that imitates all the sounds he hears. He will
imitate the human voice, and bark, mew and crow. There is a small
black-and-white bird that sings very sweetly at daybreak. Our domestic
fowl is at home in Siamese jungles. Pelicans and other waterfowl
abound.
The chief food of the common people is fish. They are found in great
variety, and some of them are delicious. The streams so swarm with
them that they often jump into the passing boats.
[Illustration: THE COBRA.]
There are snakes, scorpions and centipedes in Siam, all of which
frequently find their way into our houses. Some of the snakes are very
venomous; among these the cobra, or hooded serpent, is abundant, and
boa-constrictors ten and twelve feet long have often been killed while
robbing our hen-roosts in Bangkok. One morning, on going into my
bathroom, I found a snake three feet long. On another occasion, when
about to retire, we found a very poisonous one under our bed. One of
our missionaries carelessly left his trunk open, and when he went for
a change of linen, he found a snake coiled up in the bottom of it. I
have found scorpions on my bed-curtains, on my centre-table and
elsewhere, and frequently in my clothes-basket.
But more than all these we dreaded the mosquito, from which we were
never free, day or night. At some seasons of the year these little
tormentors were almost more than we could bear.
There are ants too, large and small, black, white and red, and their
name is legion. Sideboards, tables or anything else in Siam upon which
food is placed must stand in bowls of water or oil, and it will not do
to forget this even for a few moments. One morning, on my way to the
dining-room, I stopped and admired my canary bird that was hanging on
my front veranda. Going out again after breakfast, I saw a procession
of beautiful yellow feathers moving along on a beam over head, and on
hastening to the cage I found my pet lying dead, stung to death by the
red ants and nearly stripped of its plumage. One of our missionary
families once went to spend a few weeks at another mission-station,
and on their return they found the white ants had come up through the
floor and had eaten their way through a trunk to the top, and every
fold of the garments needed mending.
We never wearied watching the fireflies as in countless multitudes
they would spread themselves over the branches of their favorite
trees, and alternately, with the utmost regularity and exactness, all
at once give out their diamond spark or hide their light in darkness.
We were often serenaded at evening as we sat on our veranda by
grasshoppers and crickets, while immense frogs would sing the bass in
the grand chorus.
Beautiful, harmless little lizards, about a finger long, ready for
their evening meal of mosquitoes and other insects, make their
appearance on our walls and ceilings as soon as the lamps are lighted.
I have often counted between twenty and thirty of them out at once.
There is another lizard, almost as large as a young kitten, which also
comes out on our walls for his evening meal, having hid through the
day behind our mirrors or pictures. It is quite harmless, but with its
loud outcry of _tookaah! tookaah!_ it often startles new-comers from
their midnight slumbers.
There are crocodiles in great numbers in the rivers and creeks of
Siam. In one day’s boatride on the Upper Menam, Dr. House once counted
one hundred and seventy, varying in size from three to fifteen feet.
Let me tell one or two true stories of crocodiles. When we were once
visiting the mission-station at Petchaburee a crocodile seized a young
girl twelve years old and devoured her, leaving only an arm in the
boat. The governor, wishing to destroy the monster, ordered a search
to be made for it, and invited us to see the captures which his men
made and brought to our landing. Three huge fellows, averaging twelve
feet each, lay securely pinioned on the bottom of their boat, but
neither of them proved to be the one sought for.
[Illustration: HUNTING THE CROCODILE.]
In the strange providence of God, whose kingdom ruleth over all, one
of these terrible creatures once became the means of salvation to a
Chinese fisherman in Siam, and through him of founding in a distant
and important town a native church which now has many Chinese
communicants. He was wading in the shallows at the head of the Gulf of
Siam, collecting shellfish, when what he supposed was a log drifting
toward him proved to be a huge crocodile, which attacked him fiercely,
biting off his hand, so that it only hung by the tendons of the wrist.
At his cries for help his comrades came and drove the creature away.
Mortification set in, which would have ended in death had he not
sought the missionary physician in Bangkok. My husband amputated the
arm, the stump healed kindly, and when, at the end of the month, he
left the mission hospital to return home, his gratitude and trust in
those whose Christian kindness and care had saved his life led him to
say that _their_ God, of whom they had told him, should henceforth be
_his_ God. From that time he gave up the worship of idols and refused
to work on the Christian Sabbath. As he spoke only the dialect used by
the brethren of the American Baptist mission, who are laboring among
the Chinese of Siam, he was referred to them for further instruction,
and was soon baptized. He invited the missionaries and native
assistant to make his house at Bangplasoi a preaching-station. Some of
his relatives and others were converted, a mission-chapel was built
(largely with his assistance), and now there are there several hundred
Chinese converts from heathenism, and Bangplasoi is an important
mission-station among the Chinese.
ELEPHANTS.
Having lived twenty years in “The Land of the White Elephant,” whose
king has for one of his titles “The Lord of the White Elephant,” and
whose flag is a white elephant on a red ground, having often ridden on
elephants, and my husband having twice narrowly escaped with his life
when traveling with them, once having been badly gored by one,――I may
be permitted to say something not only of the white elephant, but of
his less-esteemed relatives of a darker complexion.
[Illustration: ELEPHANTS AT HOME.]
Elephants are found in great numbers and perfection in Siam and the
Laos country at the north. Our missionaries at Cheung Mai, the capital
city of the Laos, tell us they not unfrequently see hundreds pass in a
single day, and when a prince leaves home he is accompanied by a train
of two or three hundred.
They sometimes attain to the height of ten or eleven feet, but
whatever their height may be, it is a fact, which we have often proved
by actual measurement, that it never exceeds twice the circumference
of the foot. They are very long-lived, sometimes living one hundred
and fifty years or more. They are used as beasts of burden and in war,
for dragging timber from the forests and for traveling, and their
tusks, it is well known, are a valuable article of commerce.
[Illustration: AN ELEPHANT PLOUGHING.]
It would be hardly possible for one to make his way through the
jungles of Siam without the elephant. He does not put his foot down
till he is sure it is safe to do so, and then _you_ may feel sure too.
He will remove with his trunk interlacing vines, projecting branches
of trees and everything that would hinder his progress, and if
necessary he will drag himself on knees or belly over a swamp. If he
has a stream to cross he will first, with his proboscis, find how deep
it is, then move slowly and cautiously till he gets beyond his depth,
when he will swim. He will descend into ravines into which men cannot
go, and will climb steep mountains. He will travel from four to five
miles an hour, and when weary will make known to his driver his wish
to rest by striking the ground with his trunk, making a peculiar and
unmistakable noise. A large trunk is considered a mark of great beauty
in an elephant, but as he always carries it himself, no one can object
to it. The driver is seated astride the neck. The elephant carries his
head so steadily that this is the most desirable seat, because there
is the least motion. It is the seat of honor for the king, who glories
in managing his own beast. The driver always carries with him a large
stick, at the end of which is a sharp-pointed iron hook, with which he
beats the animal, when unruly, unmercifully over the head and temples
till he is subdued.
Elephants are very sagacious animals, and many amusing and interesting
stories are told of them. It is said that one of them was once taught
to stand at the gate of the king’s palace and from a large vessel
placed there, filled with rice, take out some with a huge spoon and
give to every priest that passed. I cannot vouch for the truth of
this, but more wonderful instances of sagacity can be verified. The
white elephants in the king’s stables in Bangkok have been taught to
salute His Majesty by raising their trunks high above their heads.
While I resided in Siam an American friend went with his wife from
Bangkok through the wilderness to British Burmah. They traveled nearly
two hundred miles, and used some fourteen different elephants, paying
about fifty cents a day for each. At night these beasts were turned
out to browse among the bamboos, some of the drivers keeping watch.
When they were in the jungle bright fires were kept blazing. Awaking
one night from a sound sleep, and looking toward the blaze, my friend
saw among the outstretched sleeping men one of the huge elephants
seated on his haunches warming himself by the fire. He awoke his wife
to enjoy with him this strange and amusing sight in the solemn
stillness of the tropical forest.
In March of every year a large number of wild elephants are captured
at the city of Ayuthia, and from them His Majesty makes selections for
his royal stables in Bangkok. For eight or ten weeks hundreds of men
are employed to drive them from the forests where they roam, that they
may be nearer the city. On the day appointed for their capture a
number of tame ones are used to entice them into the enclosure
prepared for them, and they seem to take great pleasure and show
wonderful sagacity in helping to capture their kindred. They will hem
in some two hundred wild ones, and with the help of their drivers and
attendants compel them to enter through the gate into the enclosure.
Some go in quietly, and others make great resistance. Such as His
Majesty fancies are then secured by strong noosed ropes cautiously
slipped over their feet and fastened to trees or posts. When
thoroughly subdued by hunger or hard blows they are brought down to
Bangkok. After a time they become quite reconciled to their new
surroundings, and show no disposition to return to their forest home.
Nothing can equal the veneration of the Siamese for the so-called
white elephant, though the only really _white_ elephant is upon their
national flag. Sometimes one is found something the color of a Bath
brick (used for cleaning knives) or a little darker, and is so much
lighter-colored than usual that it is spoken of as _white_; but most
of these are only lighter in patches on shoulders, neck, head and
inside of the ears. All over the kingdom, when such an albino is
found, there is great rejoicing, and the finder is very handsomely
rewarded. They come, as a rule, from the Laos territory to the north.
The country whose king is the fortunate possessor of one or more of
these treasures is thought to be greatly blessed, and no amount of
money can purchase one. The royal stables of Bangkok are seldom
without an occupant. I have several times visited them. Siam should be
very prosperous now, as His Majesty has five of these so-called white
elephants. They are kept in a long block of buildings at the rear of
the arsenal. Each one has an entire stable for his own use, his grooms
and attendants sleeping at one end of it. The stable is high and
spacious, and at one end is a small image of Buddha with lamps burning
in front. Each has a royal title, and there is a handsome sign over
the door giving in large gilt letters the full name and title of the
inmate. The great beast stands on a handsomely-built pedestal raised
about a foot from the floor, with its top just large enough to hold
him. He has rings of gold on his tusks, and is fastened by one fore
and one hind foot to gilded posts with ropes covered with crimson
velvet. These royal captives are fed with bananas, sugar-cane and
other dainties, and with small bundles of fresh grass, all carried to
them on silver salvers by men on their knees. Every want of these
royal beasts is carefully attended to. A recent visitor says: “He
stands proudly yet restlessly on his contracted throne, and lashes his
trunk and sways his heavy head and tusks around in an imperious,
lordly manner, trumpeting now and then until the whole hall trembles
with the deafening reverberation. When he is seen to itch in any part
of his body his royal hide is promptly scratched with a small iron
rake-like instrument with a long handle; his eyes are reverently
wiped, and he has a cool sponge-bath every hour or two of day and
night during the hot season.”
When one of these rare creatures is found in any of the northern
provinces the governor of that province sees that he is comfortably
escorted through the forest to the river, where he is received on a
handsomely-decorated raft of bamboos, placed in a canopy in the centre
of the raft, garlanded with flowers and pampered with delicacies. The
king, with his whole court in their elegant barges, and myriads of
people in boats, with banners and music, go up the river two days’
journey to meet him. As all are anxious to share the honor of bringing
him down to the city, each boat has a rope attached to the raft, and
shouts of joy fill the air as he progresses. On arriving, a pavilion
in the palace-grounds is ready to receive him, a title is given him
and slaves appointed to care for him. A public festival of a week’s
continuance is appointed; priests of the highest grade chant prayers
in his presence daily. When sick he is attended by the wisest of the
court physicians; the priests wait upon him, sprinkle him with
consecrated water and pray for his recovery. If he dies there is
universal mourning, and funeral honors are paid to his remains.
One day a strange procession passed down the river in front of our
house in Bangkok. There were eight large barges, six of them with
curtains of crimson and gold cloth, each manned by about thirty
boatmen dressed in red trousers, jackets and caps. They had a brass
band, which made very mournful music, for it was a funeral occasion.
The first impression was that some personage eminent for rank was
being borne to sepulture; but no, this procession was simply doing
honor to the dead body of a light-colored elephant.
The third and fourth boats had no gay curtains, but they had the
five-storied umbrellas which denote great rank, and between these two
boats the corpse was fastened and floated in the water. There was a
canopy of white cloth over it to protect it from the sun. Phya is a
title given to a high order of nobility in Siam, and this
distinguished elephant was named Phya Sawate. It was so highly
esteemed that more than two hundred men escorted it to its last
resting-place.
Now, why such parade and ceremony? For the strange reason that the
Siamese, with all other Buddhists, believe that at death their spirits
pass into the body of some man or animal, of more or less importance
according to the amount of merit made while living, and that they may
be thus born thousands of times. If they find an elephant of a lighter
complexion than usual, they think the spirit of some distinguished
person dwells in it――possibly, that of some future Buddha, sure to
bring a blessing on the country which possesses so great a treasure.
We hope that the day will soon come when Christianity will supplant
Buddhism, and the Siamese be wise enough to prize the elephant only
for what it can do in the service of man.
RECEPTION OF A WHITE ELEPHANT AT THE COURT OF SIAM.
A few years ago two Siamese peasants of the up-country, far to the
north, were ordered by the governor of the province to go out into the
jungle and hunt for a white elephant. The “Stones,” or astrologers,
having prophesied that the present reign would be especially lucky,
and that several of these spotted or albino elephants would be caught,
constant vigilance had been enjoined on all the provincial officials
of these regions, and large royal bounty was promised to the finders
of such a prize.
Accordingly, leaving their homes and families, these poor men went out
to live in the malarious jungle, wandering hither and thither for many
weary weeks in vain, by day forcing their way through the rank
undergrowth, anxiously following the tracks of the wild elephants up
and down the streams, living on the fruit that grew on trees unplanted
by man and the fish in the mountain-lakes; at night bivouacking under
the stars, each in turn watching while the other slept to keep up the
great fire built to protect their resting-spot from the fierce animals
prowling about under the cover of darkness. Thus day after day and
week after week they sought for the coveted white elephant which
should ensure to those who found him the richest reward.
At length, on the very point of giving up their search in despair,
they had turned their faces homeward, when all of a sudden a small,
beautifully-formed elephant was seen at a distance, drinking. He was
all muddy and dirty, and at first sight appeared darker than the
ordinary color of this animal. But some peculiarity in the skin
aroused hope. “Let us creep nearer and trap him,” they whispered. This
was an easy task to such skilled native hunters. The iris of the eye,
the color of which is held to be a good test of an albino, encouraged
their faint expectation; it was a pale Neapolitan yellow.
One of them said, “We will take him home and give him a wash.” This
was done, and to their great joy the whole body proved to be of a pale
Bath-brick color, with a few real white hairs on the back. There could
be no longer room for doubt; they had truly captured one of the
world-renowned white elephants. Indeed, competent experts pronounced
it to be the “fairest” ever caught within living memory. The ears and
tail were beautiful; the hair, the nails, the eyes, all were
indicative of the very highest family. He proved a pure albino,
so-called “white.”
The whole kingdom was thrown into a state of the wildest excitement as
the news spread east and west, north and south. Swift runners carried
the glad tidings from hamlet to hamlet. “A white elephant has been
captured!” was in every mouth. A fleet messenger bore the official
document with the formal announcement down the river to Bangkok. The
king loaded his ears with gold. Each person in any way connected with
this great capture received some token of royal favor. The governor of
the province was made a phya; the poor finders were loaded with honors
and emoluments, at one step taking their places among the nobles of
the kingdom and receiving royal gifts and grants of land. His
Excellency the governor of one of the other provinces was despatched
with a suite of high officials and attendants skilled in the
management of elephants to escort this latest addition to the royal
stables.
The date fixed for the actual reception of the royal stranger at the
capital was June 21st, and will long remain a red-letter day in the
Siamese annals. His Majesty, with his entire royal retinue, went up
the river sixty miles to Ayuthia, the ancient capital of Siam, some
days in advance, to meet the illustrious captive regarded as a
palladium for his own life and the prosperity of the empire. In
magnificently-adorned barges, escorting the noble beast to the capital
with great parade, music and rejoicings, the brilliant procession
returned.
[Illustration: THE WHITE ELEPHANT.]
Very early in the day the whole city was astir. The most intense
excitement prevailed. It was a great fête occasion. Old and young in
holiday garb thronged the verandas of the floating houses in Bangkok.
Crowds of country-folk from miles around flocked to the river, filling
the wat-grounds or crouching on their haunches along the banks,
waiting patiently for hours to catch a passing glimpse of the new
white elephant.
The deep, wide river reflected the brilliancy of the blue sky overhead
and the innumerable barges and boats gayly decorated with bunting;
flags fluttered and gilt pagoda-spires glittered in the tropical
sunlight above the mass of foliage and monotonous sloping roofs on
either shore.
Near the palace-grounds, as the time drew near for the procession to
approach, there was much running to and fro,――officials on horseback
galloping about, soldiers and marines in European uniforms drawn up
along the sides of the road, many carrying streamers or flags. Several
huge elephants in magnificent trappings, each bearing on his back a
richly-ornamented howdah and guided by a gayly-dressed _carnac_, or
driver, were brought down to the landing-place to meet the royal
procession. Near the bank stood a group of priests and white-robed
Brahmans with tall cone-shaped hats ornamented with broad gold bands.
Princes in full state uniforms were carried in litters, preceded and
followed by attendants bearing their insignia of official or social
rank――rods, seals, huge gilt umbrellas, betel-boxes, teapots,
water-goblets and all the ordinary trappings of the Siamese grandee
when he takes his walks or drives abroad.
The national air, played by a brass band, heralded the approach of the
“conquering hero;” Siamese musicians performed with more noise than
musical effect on tomtoms, conch-shells and other native instruments;
heralds and chamberlains of the king’s body-guard preceded His
Majesty, seated cross-legged in a richly-inlaid chair, beneath the
huge royal umbrella. He wore a white India helmet, and numerous
jeweled orders adorned the breast of his crimson-and-gold coat. Pages
followed with gold betel-boxes and other costly articles. The highest
grandees of the kingdom brought up the rear.
A temporary stable had been erected for this illustrious albino
pachyderm just outside the palace-grounds. He was mounted on a
platform, and his hind leg was attached by a rope to a white post.
Here, after numerous washings by pouring over him tamarind-water to
cleanse away all possible impurities, the new elephant was publicly
baptized and received official title as a grandee of Siam; after which
a high priest fed him with a piece of sugar-cane on which was written
his new title in full: Phra Sawet Sakoula Warophat, etc., etc., this
title including a long description of the great dignity, beauty,
virtues and priceless value of the royal animal. He was then brought
into the palace precincts and assigned a royal stable and numerous
attendants, who serve him with the respect shown to royalty itself,
and generally approach to feed and groom him on their hands and knees.
A recent visitor to Bangkok thus describes him in his present home:
“One only of their number, the fifth and last one obtained, is of a
faint brick-red over his entire body, which gives him an odd and not
altogether unpleasant appearance. He is, moreover, young, lively and
good-natured, and salaams by raising his trunk straight and high above
his head to all well-dressed visitors in a way which quite scandalizes
his keepers, who have taught all the others to reserve that salute
solely for the king. Were he not himself too royal to be whipped, I
dare say that this merry pachyderm might soon be taught to recognize
the honor reserved to royalists. Time was when these beasts were duly
worshiped by king and people; their stables were palaces; they were
fed from golden dishes, and wore heavy gold rings upon their tusks and
were fettered with golden chains. Even now the populace fall with
their heads to the ground as they are led out richly caparisoned on
state occasions, while the royal officers, and even the king himself,
always make them obeisance in passing.”
CHAPTER VI.
_THE CHINESE IN SIAM._
The Chinese have been in Siam since time immemorial, and have
increased, until now the Siamese say that more than half the
population is Chinese.
There is no census taken in this country, and even the government has
no positive means of knowing the number of inhabitants. But we may
safely suppose the above statement to be true. The deck of every
steamer and sailing craft from China is swarming with these ubiquitous
Celestials. In the year 1767 the Burmese invaded Siam, sacked Ayuthia,
the old capital, and carried away many captives. Prya-Tahksin, a
Siamo-Chinese, rallied the Siamese forces, defeated the Burmese and
drove them out of the country. He took the throne, fortified the town
of Bangkok and made it the capital. He reigned fifteen years, and was
then defeated by Somdet Pra Baroma Rahchah Pra Pretta Yaut Fah, who
was the first king of the present dynasty, Prabat Somdet Pra
Paramendr-Maha-Chula-Long-Korn-Klow, the present sovereign, being the
fifth.
Chinese of wealth often become favorites with the rulers and receive
titles of nobility, and these noblemen in return present their
daughters to their majesties. Thus we find Chinese blood flowing in
the veins of the royal family of Siam.
[Illustration: HOME OF RICH CHINAMAN.]
Although a Chinaman may have left a wife in his native land, that does
not prevent his taking as many others as he can support. The first
Siamese wife is supreme, and rules the many-sided household without
opposition. Intermarriage with the different tribes found in Siam does
not change to any extent their native characteristics. The children
inherit the same peculiar traits of character. They have the same
almond-shaped eyes and copper complexion, cultivate their hair in
queue style, and wear the same fashion of dress which their Chinese
ancestors wore centuries ago.
The Chinese element in Siam is a powerful one. No other race can
compete with it, not even excepting the Caucasian. We find the Chinese
in every department of business. They are extensive ship-owners. In
the days when Siam had a sailing fleet of merchantmen the owners were
principally Chinese, as were also the shippers and crews. Even when
commanded by a European captain, the supercargo on board was a
Chinaman and had chief control.
Since steamships have been introduced we find that the owners and
agents of some of these are Chinamen. The saw-mills and rice-mills
worked by muscle-power are all owned by Chinese, and since the
introduction of steam-mills they are not slow to adopt these modern
improvements, so that now several steam saw-mills and rice-mills are
owned by enterprising Chinamen. When business was dull and Europeans
stopped their mills, the Chinese kept theirs running. One reason for
this is that the Chinese can live more cheaply than Europeans, and are
satisfied with smaller profits.
They are our gardeners, shopkeepers, carpenters, bricklayers, tailors,
sailors, shoemakers, blacksmiths, fishermen and washermen. All the
mills employ Chinese coolies; all cargo-boats for loading and
unloading ships are manned by these coolies. Europeans prefer the
Chinese for servants: they are cleanly and quick to learn, frugal in
their habits, utilizing everything. In the possession of all these
traits they stand alone amidst surrounding tribes.
But the curse of opium-smoking and _shamshu_-drinking has followed
them to this sunny land, and makes shipwreck of many thousands of
lives annually. When they once become addicted to the use of opium
they neglect their business and families and spend every cent they can
find or steal for the poisonous drug, and finally, in a crazed state,
their bodies mere skeletons, they lie down and die or put an end to
their own lives.
Change of climate, scene and associations has no appreciable effect on
the disposition of a Chinaman. He still retains his acquisitive,
irascible and turbulent temperament. The Chinese herd together in
little rooms, perhaps a score of them eating, working and sleeping in
one little room in which a white man would die of suffocation. They
are very clannish too, the natives of each province holding together
and working to promote the interests of their own particular clan.
They have frequent quarrels with the natives of other provinces.
Some time ago there was quite a serious quarrel between certain clans.
The trouble is said to have originated with the Ang Yees, a secret
society. They resorted to knives and firearms, and a number were
killed. The government took the matter up and decapitated several of
them, which put a quietus upon the others for the time.
The Chinese are very daring. There are organized bands of robbers, who
go up and down the river robbing boats and breaking into native
houses, and committing murder in some cases where resistance is
offered. One house in the very shadow of the palace was entered and a
large sum of money taken. The ringleaders were caught and beheaded,
and the people are now feeling more secure in life and property.
The Chinese are inveterate gamblers. Much of the hard-earned wages of
the laboring classes is lost in the gambling dens. The gambling
establishments are all in the hands of the Chinese. Gambling, like
many other things in Siam, is a monopoly, and the government sells to
the highest bidder the privilege of licensing and controlling all such
establishments in the country. He has the right to arrest and punish
all those who infringe upon his privileges. Men, women and little
children all frequent the gambling-places. Cards and dice are both
used. The lottery monopoly is also in the hands of the Chinese.
Every Chinaman must pay a triennial poll-tax of two dollars and
seventy-five cents. As a proof that this tax has been paid they must
wear a cord around the wrist fastened with the gum of a certain tree
and stamped with the government seal. A great many try to evade this
law by keeping in retirement until the time for taxation is passed.
The Siamese captives are liable at any time to be called upon to do
government work, and to escape it they sometimes wear the queue. A lad
on our premises who had worn the queue for years decided to have it
cut off, and when asked why he did so replied, “I hear the Siamese are
requiring every one wearing the queue to give in the Chinese language
the different parts of a pig; as I could not do that, I had my queue
cut off.” If the story is true, it was a happy thought of the Siamese.
The Chinese are the pork-raisers of Siam, and could easily meet the
test.
[Illustration: CHINESE BOAT-PEOPLE.]
Most of the villages on the gulf coast are inhabited by Chinese
fishermen. Those living near the mouth of the Menam Chowphya bring the
products of the sea to the Bangkok market at all seasons of the year,
whilst those on the opposite side must consult the winds and tides.
Everything, from a sea-slug to a porpoise, is caught and sold in the
market. As their fish-boats have to travel at least thirty miles, it
is necessary to make an early start, and in order to arrive here for
the morning market they most probably toil all night.
[Illustration: CHINESE CEMETERY.]
Most of the Chinese who die here are buried, but some are cremated.
The disposition of the body rests altogether with the wife and
children of the deceased. Very many, however, return to their native
land, after amassing a good pile of Mexican dollars, to lay their
bones in the ancestral burying-ground, where their spirits may be
worshiped in turn by their descendants.
Although the different provinces in China have their own peculiar
superstitions and customs, yet when they come here they assimilate to
a certain degree. Every three or four years some person turns up who
claims that the spirit of their god has entered into him, and he is
put through the crucial test of sitting on iron spikes and sharp
swords, having needles thrust into his cheeks and his tongue cut. That
one who can obtain an inscription written with the blood from the
tongue is considered highly favored. If he can endure all this torture
unflinchingly, his claim is considered genuine. They then prepare for
a grand procession by land or water. If on the river, the god is
seated on a throne in a gayly-decorated boat, accompanied by a long
line of boats with flags, banners and streamers flying and gongs
beating. The Chinese love dearly to “strike the loud cymbal.” These
occasions are to Young China what the Fourth of July is to Young
America, a time of fire-crackers and deafening noises. The more
grotesquely the occupants of the boats are dressed the more imposing
the ceremony.
The wealthy classes build very pleasant, comfortable brick houses. The
walls of the verandas are decorated with flowering plants and
shrubbery placed in fancy Chinese flower-pots. The indispensable
Chinese lantern is suspended from the roof of the veranda. In the
interior of the house you will find the shrine of the household god,
and over it is placed a number of fancy-colored and gilt papers
containing inscriptions, perhaps the daily petitions or prayers of the
household.
The Chinese are a religious people, every house having its altar. But
“their rock is not as our Rock, themselves being judges.” At sundown
they will burn gilt paper and incense-sticks to Joss, and turn in the
midst of their devotions and curse a European, calling him a “white
devil.” We have been accustomed from childhood to think of the “father
of lies” as a very black spirit, and it seems very strange to us to
have these dusky faces call him _white_.
The furniture of some of these houses is very handsome. The same
black, straight-backed settees and chairs seen everywhere in China are
here, some of them handsomely inlaid with ivory, mother-of-pearl and
fine porcelain.
[Illustration: PAPER PRAYERS.]
The Chinese are a polite people too. If you visit them in their homes,
and they have been accustomed to mingle with Europeans, they will
offer you their hand or will chin-chin, bowing very low and shaking
their own hands. You are invited to sit down, and a cup of excellent
tea in its purity is offered in the daintiest of cups. One is tempted
to covet some of those beautiful table-covers, screens or fans, all so
richly embroidered in bright-colored silks. Some of the fans are white
silk, with birds and flowers painted on them.
“But small the bliss that sense alone bestows,
And sensual bliss is all the nation knows;
In florid beauty groves and fields appear:
Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.”
[Illustration: PARLOR OF CHINESE HOUSE.]
In the cool of the evening the working classes gather in groups round
the doors of their houses, talking, laughing and smoking. One of the
number is perhaps entertaining the others with music on a little
instrument resembling a violin. But there is no music in it. If the
reader would like to reproduce the sound, let him try drawing the bow
over the violin-strings back and forth in a seesaw manner for an hour
or two at a time, and he will have a faint idea of the distracting
sounds drawn from the tortured instrument. There is not the slightest
approach to melody.
The scantily-clad coolie is not æsthetic, but as a nation the Chinese
are very much so. If they have the means they surround themselves with
beautiful things, such as silk, embroideries, paintings, carving in
ivory, lacquer-ware, mosaics, birds and flowers. Their ladies paint
their faces to look beautiful. But these stay in their native land; a
Chinese woman is rarely seen in Siam.
See that group of Chinamen who have been invited to a party given by
the foreign minister on the king’s birthday. They walk up and down
through the drawing-room and halls, so that we have a fine opportunity
for seeing them in full dress. Thin loose trousers of blue silk,
almost concealed by a robe of elegant silk richly embroidered, a cape
of the same covering the shoulders; Chinese slippers embroidered and
turned up at the toes; a hat (which they wear all the evening)
resembling a butter-bowl; and, to complete the grand toilette, they
flourish exquisite fans in silk and ivory. They make frequent visits
to the refreshment-room, and seem to enjoy the good things provided.
Many of those coming here from China cannot swim a stroke, and yet
they will venture out on the river in a little boat, perhaps a leaky
_sampan_, which they do not know how to manage, or they will crowd
into a larger boat until it is weighed down to the water’s edge,
scarcely leaving room to use the paddles. In this condition they will
attempt to cross the river when it is very rough and dangerous.
Perhaps they will reach the opposite shore safely, or, becoming
excited, they lose all presence of mind, and, screaming and shouting
at one another, completely demoralized, they are carried by the
swiftly-flowing current upon the anchor-chain of some vessel lying in
the river; the boat is upset and they are left struggling in deep
water. Some of them may succeed in getting hold of the chain or rope
and cling to it until rescued, whilst others are carried under the
ship by the strong current, and are never again seen alive. Like most
heathen, they are fatalists, and it would seem sometimes as if they
sought death, from their persistently reckless manner when danger
threatens them. They will run their little boats across the bow of
large boats, even steamers, and, as they are probably moving with the
current, a collision is almost inevitable. It is no unusual thing to
see the bodies of Chinamen floating up and down at the mercy of the
ebbing and flowing tides, until finally they reach the sea and
disappear for ever.
There is a superstition that if you rescue any one from drowning the
water-spirits will resent the interference and claim at some future
time the rescuer as a substitute; hence the stolidity and indifference
in Siam about rescuing the drowning. New missionaries are always
startled to see a boatload of people upset in the river, and shocked
that none of the people in the other boats attempt to offer any
assistance.
As gardeners the Chinese are very successful, and when we consider the
few rude implements they have to work with it is wonderful that they
succeed so well. Their spade is not much larger than a man’s hand,
with a short straight handle――no head to hold by nor rest for the
foot; consequently, all the force used in digging must come from the
shoulders and arms. The sickle is similar to that used in many parts
of Europe at the present day; the plough, drawn by oxen, does not
differ perhaps in any respect from the one the prophet Elisha left to
follow Elijah.
The Chinese do not cultivate the paddy-fields to any great extent, but
buy the rice from the producers and bring it to the Bangkok market.
The _seri_-leaf, which is used so extensively in Siam, is cultivated
in the betel-gardens. It is a vine trained on poles, and the leaf,
which is a bright green, tender and juicy, resembles the leaf of the
morning-glory vine, and is cultivated with great care. Decayed fish is
used as a fertilizer, and consequently the breezes which blow over
these gardens are not “spicy breezes,” but, on the contrary, very
offensive, obliging one in passing to suspend respiration for a time.
The leaves are picked when young and tied up in bundles, and carried
round for sale in little boats. This leaf, covered with a pink lime
paste and a little tobacco and betel-nut added, is rolled up
cross-wise and chewed. The consequence is, their teeth are black as
coal and the mouth is always full of red saliva, which runs out of the
mouth over the chin, and is almost as disgusting as the practice of
tobacco-chewing amongst Americans.
The Presbyterians have done no special work amongst the Chinese proper
in Siam. There are a number of elderly Chinamen in the mission
churches, but many of the male members are Siamo-Chinese. In the
mission boarding-school for boys more than half the number are sons of
Chinamen, and they are the brightest and most encouraging pupils. Many
of the missionaries hold the opinion that China proper is the
legitimate field in which to teach Christianity to the Chinese. It is
very difficult to get educated Chinese teachers in Siam.
The Rev. Wm. Dean, D.D., was the first missionary to the Chinese in
Siam. He was sent out by the Baptist Association, and arrived in
Bangkok July 18, 1835. This venerable father, now in his
seventy-seventh year, is still doing active service for the Master in
this part of his vineyard. He stood alone for many years, but recently
he has been reinforced by the arrival of the Rev. L. A. Eaton.
The Chinese all learn enough of the Siamese language to make
themselves understood, and they can get a saving knowledge of the
truth through the medium of the Siamese language if their hearts are
so inclined. Already both Siamese and Chinese in Siam are accepting
the gospel, so that we see the dawn of that glorious time promised
when “the heathen” will “be given as an inheritance, and the uttermost
parts of the earth for a possession” to Christ.
PART II.
VARIETIES OF SIAMESE LIFE.