the family and the church of Miss Mary Campbell. After that,
appointments with other churches filled up my time till the meeting of
the General Assembly in Springfield, Illinois, which I attended, though
not as a delegate. Our Presbytery of North Laos had not then been
organized, and Dr. E. P. Dunlap was the representative of the Presbytery
of Siam. At that meeting it seemed to me that a golden opportunity was
missed for drawing together in a closer union the Northern and the
Southern branches of the Presbyterian Church. The outcome threw the
Southern church, much more weakened by the war than the Northern, on its
own resources. In proportion to its financial strength, it has developed
into one of the strongest missionary churches in the land, both as
regards the home work and the foreign. Meantime, with the growth of the
country generally, the Northern Assembly is becoming too unwieldy a body
for its best efficiency. I believe the time will come when there will be
three Assemblies rather than one, with a triennial Assembly of all on a
basis of representation agreed upon by the three—somewhat after the plan
of the Methodist and the Episcopal churches; or, more nearly still,
after the plan of the Pan-Presbyterian Council.
In duties and pleasures such as have just been described, the time
slipped by till it was the 6th of June, 1882, before I again reached my
family in Statesville. We were to start Lāo-ward about the middle of
July. My furlough ended with a visit to my old charge at Union, to
attend the dedication of a new church there, and to see my old friends
once more.
We began to gather up our scattered forces at Chicago, where the Fifth
Church gave to its pastor’s daughter, and to the rest of us there
present, a hearty farewell. The others of our large party joined us at
different points on our route across the continent. Dr. Eugene P. Dunlap
and his family, also returning from furlough, were the very last to join
us, just in time to sail with us from San Francisco.
A missionary’s vacation is very delightful, but the last day of it—the
day that brings him back to his home and his work—is the best of it all.
The small Bangkok steamers of those days could not furnish accommodation
for our whole party at once. Some of us were, therefore, compelled to
lie over at Canton—a circumstance which changed the ultimate location of
one of our young ladies to the Canton mission, just as a previous
successor to Miss Campbell had in a similar manner been changed to
another station in China. But where there are young folks, such
accidents will happen.
At Bangkok our United States Consul, General Partridge, arranged for us
an audience with the King. His Majesty gave us a cordial reception,
expressing his gratification at seeing so many American missionaries
coming to his country; since he knew that they came to instruct his
people, and to make them more intelligent and better citizens.
Reinforcements surely had not come too soon. Dr. Wilson, Mrs. Cheek, and
Miss Cole were the only missionaries on the field when we returned; for
Dr. Cheek was absent on business. It was now four years since the
proclamation of religious toleration; and for the first time was there
prospect of workers enough to make any use of the advantages it offered.
[Illustration:
CHULALONGKORN, KING OF SIAM, 1872-1910]
But had we relied too much on human aid? Were we too much elated in view
of our present numbers, with Mr. Martin to follow the next year? After a
short stay in Bangkok, we reached Chiengmai in the midst of one of those
violent epidemics of fever by which the Lāo country was then, perhaps,
more frequently visited than it is now. Mr. and Mrs. Hearst and Miss
Warner were soon prostrated with the disease, and at one time, out of
the whole mission, scarcely enough were left to care for the sick. Mr.
and Mrs. Hearst soon decided to give up the struggle and withdraw from
the field. Miss Warner continued longer, but ultimately she, too,
retired with broken health. As already stated, Mr. McLaren died of
cholera after a few hours’ sickness in Bangkok. God was teaching us that
it is “not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit, saith Jehovah.”
Soon other complications arose. Smallpox was brought by pupils into the
Girls’ School, and, to our consternation, Miss Griffin fell a victim.
She had been vaccinated in her childhood, but was not revaccinated on
leaving home—which is always a wise precaution for those expecting to
travel or to live in the East. Proper measures prevented further spread
of the disease; and though our patient had a rather hard attack, yet she
made good recovery.
During our absence, the church had sustained a great loss in the death
of Nān Inta, our first convert and assistant. But his works do follow
him, and his life will long continue to be a precious legacy to the Lāo
church. He lived, however, until others were ready to take his place.
Nān Sī Wichai, who long had been Dr. Cheek’s teacher, was a strong
character, and he was ordained as an elder. Nān Tā, also, who had
wandered so far and so long after the persecution, was growing to be a
power in the church, and afterwards had the honour of becoming the first
ordained minister among the Lāo.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXII
A SURVEYING EXPEDITION
On the 26th of February, 1884, an East Indian appeared on our veranda
with an unexpected note from my old guest and friend, Rev. Dr. J. N.
Cushing of the American Baptist Shan Mission. The surprise and pleasure
of a visit from him and Mrs. Cushing in the early and lonesome days of
the mission have already been referred to. The note told us that he was
now connected, as interpreter, with a surveying expedition under Holt S.
Hallett, Esq., and that the party would arrive in Chiengmai on the
following day. The railroad for which Mr. Hallett was surveying a route
was part of a scheme, then on foot, to build a road from Maulmein to
Chiengmai, there to connect with a road from Bangkok, through the Lāo
country, to Chieng Sên, and, if successful, to be continued up to
Yunnan, China. For some reason the scheme was not carried out, but the
prospect of any road to connect our isolated field with the outside
world was attractive to us.
The party arrived the next day; and since it would be very inconvenient
for Mr. Hallett to be separated from Dr. Cushing, we found room in our
house for Mr. Hallett also, and had a fine visit with both. They soon
began to tempt me to join their expedition. All expenses were to be
paid. They were not to travel on Sunday. Their intended route, through
the towns and villages on the way to Chieng Rāi and Chieng Sên, and
southward again to Lakawn, was over ground I was anxious to travel once
more. The trip would give me a long and profitable visit with my friend,
Dr. Cushing. But, besides all personal considerations, it seemed right
to give a little aid to an enterprise that would redound to the good of
the country.
Our Chiengmai Prince, then quite old, was most incredulous as to the
possibilities of the wonderful railroad. In his book, _A Thousand Miles
on an Elephant in the Shan States_, Mr. Hallett has given an amusing
account of his first interview with the Prince. He had great difficulty
in understanding how a train could move faster than ponies, or how it
could move at all without being drawn by some animal. And how could it
ascend the hills? For it would surely slide down unless it were pulled
up. “I explained to him that I had made three railways in England,
therefore he might rely upon what I had said. Railways were made in
various parts of the world over much more difficult hills than those
lying between Zimme (Chiengmai) and Maulmein.... He seemed quite
stupefied by the revelation. It might be so—it must be so, as I had seen
it; but he could not understand how it could be. He was very old; he
could not live much longer. He hoped we would be quick in setting about
and constructing the line, as otherwise he would not have the pleasure
of seeing it.”
We started at last on March 3d, 1884, with four large riding elephants,
four pack-elephants, and numerous carriers, making forty-one persons in
all. The passport from the Siamese government, supplemented by one from
the acting Commissioner, and the presence with us of a Lāo official of
some rank, sent to see that the orders were carried out, secured for us
men and elephants and all necessary equipments, so far as the country
could furnish them. The local officials were usually very kind, and as
prompt as native officials ever were in those days. Mr. Hallett was very
considerate in arranging to stop for the night and on Sundays near large
villages and towns, where a little missionary work could be done. In the
cities where there were Christians, we held regular services on Sundays.
On these occasions our chief gave the influence of his presence, though,
of course, he could not understand what was said.
On this trip we had a good opportunity for studying the characteristics
of the elephant. He is very conscious of his dignity, and must be
treated with the respect due to a king, and not with the familiarity of
an equal. Yet one is amused at his timidity. I myself have seen one
ready to stampede if a squirrel or a big rat ran across the road in
front of him. Mr. Hallett says: “Elephants, though immense in size, are
very timid, and easily startled. We had to take them off the path and
turn their heads away into the jungles, whenever we heard the tinkling
bells of an approaching caravan; and they will turn tail and run at the
sight of an audacious little dog that thinks fit to bark at them.”
On some of the stages of our march, when we had a mother-elephant in our
company, we had the mischievous youngster along. Such are always an
unceasing source of amusement. One of these seemed to have a special
spite against Mr. Hallett’s Madras boy, either because of his peculiar
dress, or for some liberty he had taken with him. Mr. Hallett writes:
“The little elephant was taking every chance he could get to hustle the
men over as they forded the streams, and to souse them with water from
his trunk. Portow, who had an overweening opinion of his own dignity,
and was bent on setting up as an oracle, was, unfortunately, the butt of
the boys, but was likewise the sport of the baby-elephant. Many a time
have I seen him hustled over by the youngster, who seemed to have picked
him out as his playmate. Slyly and softly stealing up behind, he would
suddenly increase his pace, and, with a quick shuffle or a sudden lurch,
shoulder him sprawling to the ground. Portow, during this part of the
journey, behaved like a hunted man, ever looking behind to see whether
the dreadful infant was behind.”
My friend, Dr. Cushing, who had been put in charge of the train, and our
prince-guide, both believed in the oriental idea of making an impression
by as imposing a pageant as possible. On nearing Chieng Rāi, they
marshalled us in procession, so that we entered the city in state, with
ten armed men leading the way. Possibly it had its desired effect, for a
warm welcome was given us, and every aid was granted.
In the eleven years since my first visit there with Dr. Vrooman, the
city had grown in size. The fertility of its soil and the large extent
of its arable land were sure to attract still larger population from the
south. In addition to these natural advantages, it had then another
strong claim for a mission station. While all the other Lāo states,
through their rulers, submitted to the introduction of Christianity
rather than welcomed it, Chieng Rāi and Chieng Sên were exceptions. The
rulers of both desired the presence of the missionaries.
The Sunday spent there was a welcome day of rest. The week had been a
strenuous one. In the morning we held a public service—the first ever
held there. Mr. Hallett and our prince-guide attended, and curiosity
collected quite a congregation. After tiffin, Dr. Cushing and I spent
several hours—the first quiet ones we had had—reading in the monastery
grounds at the great bend of the river.
That evening I met the governor at home and, save for the presence of
his wife, alone. His intelligent enquiries as to the truths and
teachings of our religion showed that he had already thought much on the
subject. Krū Nān Tā and he were not very distant relatives, and had had
many conversations on the subject. His regard for our mission and his
earnest desire for a mission station, as well as the protection he
afterwards gave the Christians when they were wronged, had, I believe, a
deeper foundation than an intellectual interest, or even a personal
friendship for us.
Our next stage was Chieng Sên. There Nān Suwan, our ruling elder, and
his family gave us a warm welcome. He met us at the city gate, hardly
hoping there would be a missionary in the expedition, which, rumour told
him, was coming. His house stood on the bank of the river, just where
Dr. Vrooman and I landed thirteen years before, when the only occupants
were wild beasts. The new settlers had been so busy providing housing
and sustenance for themselves, that only one monastery building had been
roofed, and only a portion of its images stored under shelter. Our old
friend the governor had only a bamboo residence. Nān Suwan had made
friends by the help of the quinine with which he had been supplied, and
he had the best house in the city. It served, also, as a chapel, in
which, with grateful hearts, we worshipped on Sunday.
The governor was even more insistent in his demand for a mission station
than the governor of Chieng Rāi had been. He even offered to send down
elephants to move us up, if we would come. His was not the deep
religious nature of the Chieng Rāi governor. He possibly believed that
in their sphere all religions were alike good. He urged, as he had done
before, that we might even then forestall the monasteries and preoccupy
the field. Nothing would have pleased me more, had it been possible,
than to accept the cordial invitation. It was true, as the governor
said, “The people must and will have some religion. If you do not give
them Christianity, they must take Buddhism.” It was only necessity that
could resist such a plea. But half a loaf is better than no bread. If we
were not ready to start a regular station in Chieng Sên, we must somehow
work the field as best we could. That consideration determined my long
tours in the dry seasons of the years that followed.
Up to this time I had never been properly equipped and outfitted for
such tours. One outcome of this trip was a great improvement in my means
of transportation for the future. An application made long before this
to the Board for an elephant, had been received as a huge joke. But now
it happened that in the assignment of elephants for our upward trip, a
large _sadaw_—a male without tusks—had fallen to me. He proved to be an
exceptionally fine beast belonging to an estate about to be divided. He
must be sold, and was held at a very cheap figure. With the help of a
contribution by Mr. Hallett, and the hire paid for its use, I was able
to purchase it. The deputy governor gave me a good howdah for it. I was
as proud of my new acquisition as ever a boy was of a new toy. But since
few elephants will travel well alone, I now needed a mate for him.
Before long I was fortunate enough to get a cheap and equally good
female. I was then prepared for my long tours. I could cross streams in
safety, and be protected from rain, even if my journey were prolonged
beyond the limits of the dry season.
On our return journey, in Mûang Payao, we came in contact with the worst
epidemic of smallpox that I have ever seen. We met it at every turn in
the street. With difficulty could we keep parents with children, all
broken out with the disease, in their arms, from crowding round us in
our sālā. We had hardly taken our seats on the rugs spread for us at the
governor’s official reception of Mr. Hallett, when we discovered cases
of smallpox all about us. Dr. Cushing was nervously afraid of it, and
retired. I had to remain an hour as interpreter. Imagine our
consternation on reaching the next station to find that the Doctor
showed unmistakable signs of having contracted the dreadful disease,
although he had been vaccinated in his youth. What a discovery to be
made on a journey, and four days from home! On consultation it was
thought best to hasten on to Chiengmai, a thing which our mode of travel
made possible. Mr. and Mrs. Chalmers Martin had arrived during our
absence, and had taken up their quarters in our house. It was,
therefore, impossible to take our sick friend in. We did the next best
thing, and gave him a new bamboo house on our hospital lot, where Dr.
Peoples carefully watched over him till he made a rapid recovery, and
was able to return home in a boat as far as Bangkok, and thence by sea
_via_ Singapore. It was a sad close, however, to our pleasant visit
together, and to our otherwise interesting and profitable tour.
* * * * *
I returned from Chieng Sên, as we have seen, with an elephant of my own.
On reaching home I found awaiting me the best pony I ever had. It was
sent to me as a present from the governor of Mê Hawng Sawn, near the
Salwin River. I had never been to Mê Hawng Sawn, and had but a very
limited acquaintance with the governor. According to my uniform custom
in those days, on his official visits to Chiengmai, I had twice called
upon him as the governor of a neighbouring province. On both occasions
we had conversation on the different merits of the two religions. On one
of these visits he had brought down some ponies to sell, and on my
asking the price of one he said, “I am very sorry that I have sold all
my gentle ones. There is only one left. If you can use him, I shall be
glad to give him to you.” It is a McGilvary trait not to be timid about
horses, and I said, “I will try him.” So the pony was sent down to my
house; but he proved rather too much for my horsemanship. The first time
I mounted him, he threw me and sprained my wrist. It was the unanimous
vote of the family that he be returned with thanks. The governor sent
back word that he was very sorry; but never mind; when he reached home
he would see to it that I had a good pony—a message which, I am sorry to
say, I took as a good oriental compliment. I had even forgotten all
about the matter, when, on my return from this trip, I found the pony in
my stable. He was a most valuable and timely present.
But we are not quite done with Mr. Hallett’s survey. He made a short
excursion without an interpreter to the hot Springs. But his final trip
was to be to Mûang Fāng, six days to the north and west of the route
previously taken, and distant some eighty-three miles from Chiengmai.
His object was to see if there were not an easier route to Chieng Rāi
down the valleys of the Mê Fang and the Mê Kok. The trip strongly
appealed both to Mr. Martin and to me, and we gladly accepted Mr.
Hallett’s invitation to accompany him.
Mûang Fāng was an ancient city captured and destroyed by the Burmese in
1717; so that it lay in ruins nearly two hundred years before it was
re-peopled. Besides Mûang Fāng, we visited, either in going or
returning, four other cities—Chieng Dāo, Mûang Ngāi, Mûang Pāo, and
Mûang Kên. Not far to the south of Mûang Fāng we visited the cave of Top
Tao, noted in the Buddhist legends of Northern Siam. Mr. Hallett thus
describes our experiences there:
“Inside was a lofty cavern lighted by a natural skylight. On a
raised platform in the cave was a great reclining image of
Buddha some thirty feet long, and around it a number of figures
representing his disciples. Numerous small wooden and stone
images of Buddha had been placed by pious pilgrims about the
platforms. Pillows, mattresses, robes, yellow drapery, flags,
water-bottles, rice-bowls, fans, dolls, images of temples,
doll’s houses for the spirits, and all sorts of trumpery, were
lying together with fresh and faded flowers that had been
offered to the images, and were strewn in front of them. A steep
ladder led up to niches near the roof of the cave, in which
images were enshrined.
“My companions, full of ardor, determined to explore the inner
recesses of the cave, and accordingly lighted their torches and
proceeded further into the bowels of the earth, whilst I enjoyed
a quiet smoke amongst the gods. Down they went, creeping through
low, narrow passages, over rocks, and along ledges, with chasms
and pits lining their path as the cave expanded—bottomless as
far as they could judge by the faint light of their torches, but
really not more than twenty or thirty feet deep—until they could
get no further, and had to return, having proceeded about the
eighth of a mile.”
That night brought us to the Mê Fāng River. The narrative proceeds:
“Here we spent the most unpleasant night we had yet spent, as we
were troubled with rain, heat, and mosquitoes. We were told that
game was plentiful. Wild cattle larger than buffaloes come in
droves from the hills to graze in the plain, while the
rhinoceros and the elephant roam about the plains.
“At our next stopping-place, after we had settled ourselves in
an empty house, a villager came to inform us that the house
belonged to the Chief of Mûang Fāng, and that anybody that slept
in it would have his head cut off. As rain was threatening, we
determined to risk the penalty, and we were soon glad that we
had done so, as the rain poured down in torrents.”
There is a small deer called tamnê, which twenty years ago was very
abundant in all the northern provinces. They are not found in the very
tall grass of the river-bottoms, but in grass about waist-high thickly
covering the higher plains. They have their beds in this grass by day,
and graze at night. They are lower than the grass, and never leap so as
to show the body, but glide smoothly along as if swimming, discovering
their presence only through the parting and waving of the grass.
Sometimes you get right upon them before they will run.
One Saturday we got Mr. Hallett interested in some survey or
calculations not requiring the aid of an interpreter, and Mr. Martin and
I had our first deer hunt. We took six of our elephants, and, going out
about an hour’s ride or more from the city, we formed in open order
abreast, about forty yards apart, and in perfect silence moved forward
over the plain. The hunter thus starts his own game. He sits on the
back, or, better still, on the neck of his elephant, with gun cocked,
ready for a shot at the first noise or movement in the grass. We started
about a dozen of the deer, and emptied many cartridges, but came back to
camp with no meat—much to Mr. Hallett’s disgust.
Mûang Fāng, like Chieng Sên, was rich in images of all sizes and
materials. I never saw finer bronze ones. It was a favourite field from
which Siamese princes and officials could get a supply otherwise
unattainable in those days. Of course, _they_ have a right to them. But
when a German traveller undertook a wholesale speculation in the images
of Buddha, it was quite another matter, and he got into serious
difficulty with the government.
Soon after our return to Chiengmai, Mr. Hallett left us for Bangkok.
From his long residence in Burma and from his close connection with the
mission and missionaries during his expedition among what he calls the
Shan States, he understood the methods and results of missionary work
better than most visitors who have written upon the subject. The kind
words of the dedication of his book, though often quoted, may well
conclude this chapter.
“To the American Missionaries in Burma and Siam and the Shan States I
dedicate this book, as a mark of the high esteem in which I hold the
noble work the American Baptist Mission and the American Presbyterian
Mission are accomplishing in civilizing and Christianizing the people of
Indo-China.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXIII
EVANGELISTIC TRAINING
On our return from the surveying expedition in the summer of 1884, we
found F. B. Gould, Esq., our first British Vice-Consul, already
established in Chiengmai. It was an important event for the country;
since a British official in any place is a guarantee that at least the
outward forms of law and justice will be observed. In one important
sense, too, it marked a new era for the mission, or, at least, for the
missionaries.