eighteen years without a mail system of any kind. Our only dependence so
far was on catching chance trading boats to and from Bangkok. These were
always an uncertain quantity; in very low water they almost ceased to
travel. Some boatmen preferred not to be responsible for the mail, not
knowing what it might contain. In the great city of Bangkok, and even in
Chiengmai, it required a constant effort to keep ourselves informed of
the departures of boats. The consequence was that an absence of news
from children, friends, and the outside world generally, for three or
four months at a time, was very common. Sometimes the interval was as
much as eight months. Add to this the time of the long river trip, and
our news sometimes would be nearly a year old when it reached us. Mr.
Wilson’s family and mine had schooled ourselves to these conditions; but
to those who had been accustomed to a daily mail, they must have been
almost unendurable.
The new Vice-Consul came, determined by all means to get some regular
communication established, if it were only a monthly one. We were only
too glad to do whatever we could to that end. It was a matter of pride
to both parties that we arranged at once for a regular and most
successful semi-monthly mail overland to Maulmein. I furnished a
reliable Christian man for chief contractor, and good men for carriers.
Since Mr. Gould had as yet no authority from his government to incur any
expense, the arrangement was wholly a private affair, with the
understanding that all who availed themselves of it should pay a
quarterly assessment for the maintenance of the line. But in a short
time the British government assumed the whole expense. Mr. Gould
promised to get the staff exempt from corvée, or compulsory government
service. He had to use his official authority for that.
The Lāo government had absolutely no interest in a mail, whether weekly
or yearly; but the Siamese looked rather askance at having in their own
country a mail service over which they had no control. It seemed to be
in some way a reflection on their national pride. There is little doubt
that our private enterprise hastened the weekly government mail from
Bangkok, which was started the next year. And since the Maulmein route
is quicker by two weeks than the one by Bangkok, the Siamese government
has of late maintained both, the two meeting at Rahêng, and giving us a
very creditable and regular mail service.
* * * * *
In the spring of 1884 the mission sustained a great loss in the death of
Princess Tipa Kēsawn, Prince Intanon’s consort, whom we were in the
habit of calling “the Queen.” Placed as she was, she could not well have
avoided the making of priests’ garments, and the going through with the
form of making offerings to the spirits. But I seriously doubt whether
she had any expectation of laying up thereby a store of merit for the
future. One thing we do know, that in her last sickness she turned no
anxious look to any of these things, at a time when thoughtful Buddhists
are always most diligent in their efforts. Dr. Peoples of our mission
attended her in her last illness, and the case was submitted entirely to
him. Mrs. McGilvary and I were both with her the day before she died.
Mrs. McGilvary was with her at her death, and remained to see the body
dressed for the coffin. We missed her very much as a friend, and the
whole country missed her as a balance-wheel for her husband.
* * * * *
On the arrival of the reinforcement in 1883, a Presbytery was organized
of the four ministers, Wilson, Peoples, Hearst, and McGilvary. I was
then full of the idea of a theological training-class. My experience of
the accumulated power added to the missionary’s efforts by having such
assistants as Nān Inta, Nān Suwan, and Noi Intachak, raised in my mind
the question, Why not increase the number? Having had no schools, we
had, of course, no body of young men educated on Christian lines whom we
might train for the ministry; and we could not have such for years to
come. But we had in our churches mature men of deeply religious nature,
earnest students of Buddhism, and carefully educated in all the learning
of their race. And a man so trained has many compensations for his lack
of training in our elementary schools. He knows the sacred books of his
own people, their strength and their weakness. He understands the
thoughts, the needs, and the difficulties of a Buddhist enquirer, and
the mode of argument by which these difficulties are to be met, as no
young man of his own race, and as no foreign teacher can do. The
training needed to make such a man an efficient preacher of the Gospel,
is training in the Christian Scriptures, together with practical
experience in evangelistic work under efficient direction.
I was at that time giving regular instruction to Noi Intachak, one of
the finest young men I have ever known in that country, and very anxious
to become a minister.[13] To Nān Tā, afterwards our efficient minister,
I was giving instruction less regularly, as it was possible for him to
take it. But it would have been both easier and more profitable to teach
a class of six or eight. By qualifying such a group of young men to
work, and then working with them and through them, I believed that my
own efficiency could be quadrupled, or even sextupled, as it was doubled
when I had Nān Inta to work with.
Footnote 13:
Our hopes for his future career, alas, were cut short by his untimely
death in the following year.
With these thoughts and this experience impressed on my mind, and in
order that my plan, if adopted, might have the ecclesiastical sanction
of the Presbytery as well as the corporate sanction of the mission, I
had urged the organization of the Presbytery just as soon as we had the
minimum quorum required. In order to give the discussion its proper
outlook and perspective, I noticed, also, in the paper which I read
before the Presbytery, the necessity of a general education for all our
Christians, and of High Schools for both sexes; while I sketched more in
detail the nature and the methods of special instruction intended for
those in training to become evangelists and ministers.
The training proposed for this last group was intended primarily to
equip the most capable and most promising individuals among the converts
for filling well their places as lay officers and leaders in the
churches, and for engaging intelligently in evangelistic work. But
beyond this it was thought that it would ultimately furnish a body of
picked men from whom again the best might be chosen as candidates for
further instruction leading up to the ministerial office. The course was
to be flexible enough to permit occasional attendance with profit on the
part of men whose household duties or whose business would not permit
them to attend regularly. Its special feature was actual and constant
practice in evangelistic work under the direction and supervision of the
Principal, and with him as his assistants on his tours.
In view of the poverty of the Lāo generally, and in order to make it
possible for these men to maintain their families while occupied with
this training, it was further proposed that they should receive a
moderate allowance of, perhaps, eight rupees per month of actual
service, or about three dollars of our money. This seemed not
unreasonable, since in Christian lands it is thought a wise provision to
assist students in their preparation for the ministry; and since what is
required to support one European missionary family, would support half a
dozen fairly educated native ministers or ten good native evangelists.
The Presbytery took hold of the scheme with much ardour, and at once
began to organize it into shape, but on far too large a scale, and with
far too formidable and too foreign apparatus. A regular “Board of
Education” was created, with rules and regulations better suited to
American conditions than to those of the Lāo churches. A committee was
further appointed to examine all applicants for the course, much after
the manner of receiving candidates for the ministry under the care of a
Presbytery. Their “motives for seeking the ministry” were to be enquired
into, while as yet it was not at all known whether they would desire to
become ministers. The allowance in each case was to be the absolute
minimum which it was supposed would suffice for the maintenance of the
student after he had provided all that he could himself. Noi Intachak,
for example, was allowed the maximum of eight rupees a month, while Noi
Chai—one of the best Buddhist scholars in the country, a young man with
a family, living ten miles away in the country—was allowed five rupees,
on the ground that he was not very poor; while yet another was allowed
but three.
After this ordeal—which was thought to be a good test of their
sincerity—the rest of the six or eight candidates for instruction
declined to commit themselves. None of them understood exactly what the
Board of Education was about. I myself was greatly disappointed at the
outcome. After a week of listless study, Noi Chai begged to be allowed
to withdraw, and the whole thing was disbanded. My hopeful private class
was killed by too much “red tape,” and with it all possibility of a
training-class for four years to come. I was again set free for long
tours and my favourite evangelistic work.
I continued to teach Noi Intachak till his lamented death, and I devoted
what spare time I could to teaching the long-time wanderer, Nān Tā, who
had become our best evangelist. There seems to have been some fatality
connected with all our efforts to establish a theological training
school. When the next attempt was made, under Mr. Dodd’s direction, with
a large and interesting class enthusiastically taught, through some
cause or combination of causes—for it would be difficult to specify any
single one as alone determinative—it was allowed to slip out of our
hands. Possibly a leading cause in this case was the same that was
operative in the other. At a time when the mission was pressing the idea
of self-support to its breaking point, an allowance probably too scanty
was offered in the evangelistic work to the men who had been trained for
it. The whole question in the Lāo field, as it doubtless is in others,
is a difficult one. As wages in other departments rise, and the demand
for competent men becomes more pressing both in governmental and in
private business, the question will become more difficult still. While
on the one hand there is the danger of making a mercenary ministry, on
the other hand we must remember that, the world over, educated labour
now costs more, but is not, therefore, necessarily dearer. The same
penny-wise and pound-foolish policy has lost us the strength of some of
the best men in our church, our schools, our hospitals, and our
printing-press, because more lucrative positions are offered elsewhere.
But we must remember first of all that theological schools, like all
others, are not made, but grow; and, second, that the law of competition
prevails here, too, as well as elsewhere. It is easy to say that it
ought not to do so, as between the ministry and other professions, or
between the missionary work and other more lucrative callings. But to a
certain extent the same law does hold, and it is a fact to be reckoned
with.
* * * * *
In May, 1884, H. R. H. Prince Krommamûn Bijit, a brother of the King of
Siam, arrived and took up his residence in Chiengmai—probably to give
prestige to the High Commissioner, and possibly to smooth the road of
the new British Consul. It was an open secret that the Prince of
Chiengmai could see no need whatever for a British Resident, and at
times he was not slow to make his views known. For a while the relations
between the two were somewhat strained. Yet it was of the utmost
importance that the relations between England and Siam should remain
cordial. At the same time it was a part of the plan of Siam, since fully
carried out, to assume complete control of the government in the
northern states. What was of more special interest to us was, as we
shall see, not only that Prince Bijit was personally friendly, but that
he brought with him substantial evidence of the good will of His Majesty
and of the Siamese government toward our work.
It was in this year that our first attempt at establishing a mountain
sanitarium was made. It was designed to furnish a refuge from the great
heat of the plain, to be a retreat for invalids, and a place where new
missionaries might more safely become acclimatized, and still be
studying the language. But as a matter of fact, new missionaries are put
to work so promptly that it is about as hard for them to withdraw from
the battle as it is for the older ones. Since we kept no watchman on the
premises, the sanitarium was afterwards burned down—possibly by forest
fires. Later a better and more convenient situation was found nearer the
city, so near that a man can ride up in the evening, spend the night
there with his family, and return in the morning to his work for the
day. It is in a delightful situation beside a cool brook, but is too low
for the best results as a health resort.
* * * * *
At the Annual Meeting in December, the importance of opening a new
station in Lakawn was discussed. The baptism of the officer from that
city, and the organization of a church there, have already been
mentioned. The officer was constant in his appeals for the establishment
of a station there, with a missionary in residence. Although Mr. Wilson
was soon to start with his family for the United States on a furlough,
there would still be left in Chiengmai—if I were sent to Lakawn—two
ministers and two physicians, even if these were but three men in all.
Besides, there were beginning to be some good native assistants in
Chiengmai. No one had expressed a desire to open a new station, and no
one had been sounded in regard to the matter. So I determined to make
now the visit to Lakawn which I had planned for the previous fall, but
had been unable to accomplish. My wife and our little son Norwood were
to accompany me. When our preparations were well advanced, what was our
delight to find that Dr. and Mrs. Peoples wished to accompany us, if
they could obtain elephants. When this was mentioned to Prince Bijit, he
not only volunteered the elephants, but informed us that he had
authority from His Majesty to see that we had a lot for our station
there, and, furthermore, that, in passing through Lakawn, he had already
secured for us one of the most desirable lots in the place. In addition
to this, His Majesty had sent by him two thousand rupees as a
contribution toward the new station and a hospital. Who could fail to
see that the guiding hand of the Lord was in it! Before this I had
written to our United States Consul to get permission to secure a lot
there, but had never once thought of a contribution, much less of one so
liberal. Mrs. McGilvary thus reports our trip in a letter to our
daughter:
“Lakawn, January 30th, 1885. We reached Lampūn on Friday. I
curtained off one end of the sālā just north of the city, and
Mrs. Peoples did the same at the other end, leaving the space
between and the veranda for callers. There we spent the Sabbath.
Your father preached twice to very attentive audiences. We were
impressed with the favourable prospect for mission work, and
hope to make a longer visit to the place soon. We left on
Monday, and reached this place on Thursday noon, and lodged in a
public sālā just opposite the beautiful lot which the Prince has
given us for a station. It is in a fine site, one of the best in
the city. We called on the Chief this morning, and all seemed
pleased at the prospect of having a mission station here. It is
not yet settled who is to open it. We are willing to come, and
so are Dr. and Mrs. Peoples.”
[Illustration:
PRESBYTERY, RETURNING FROM MEETING IN LAKAWN]
As may well be imagined, we returned to Chiengmai with grateful hearts
for the many providences that had favoured us. The new station was
assured. We had not then thought of keeping two physicians for
Chiengmai. Dr. Cheek had charge of the medical work. Dr. Peoples,
naturally, preferred a field where he would have ample scope both for
his medical profession and for the itinerating work of which he was
equally fond. His double profession and other qualifications fitted him
as no one else could be fitted for opening the new station. On my wife’s
account I was very willing to yield him the pleasure—for such to me it
has always been—of breaking new ground. Mrs. McGilvary had already had
the labour and self-denial of opening two stations, one of which was a
new mission. The importance of Lakawn as the next station could not be
challenged. Dr. and Mrs. Peoples themselves were pleased with the place
and the prospect of the new field. So they were unanimously appointed
and set apart to the new and important work.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXIV
STRUGGLE WITH THE POWERS OF DARKNESS
The belief in witchcraft was still prevalent everywhere, and this year
brought us striking illustrations of its cruel power. An elderly man
with his wife and family, living in one of the outlying villages, was
accused of witchcraft. The pair of elephants which he owned and used had
belonged to a man suspected of harbouring a malicious spirit; and it was
thought that the demon had followed these elephants into the family of
their new master. The family was promptly ostracized; but by driving off
her husband with his elephants, the wife might avoid expulsion, and
might save for herself and her daughters the comfortable home. I
endeavoured in vain to prevent this outcome. “I am much more afraid of
the spirits,” said the wife, “than of bears and tigers.” The husband
could no longer face the universal odium which he encountered, and so
was driven forth. But the spirits served the old man a good turn—they
drove him into the Christian religion, which he lives to adorn, and they
gave him two good elephants. The family afterwards applied for one of
them. As a matter of equity he gave up one, and lived comfortably with a
Christian son on the proceeds of the sale of the other.
Then there was a great epidemic of fever in Bān Pên in the neighbouring
province of Lampūn. Few homes were left without sad hearts and vacant
places through the death of one or more members. The destroyer must be
some demon which had taken up its abode in a human habitation, and was
preying on the inhabitants of the village. The family of one of the most
prosperous men in the village was finally selected as the one which must
be the abode of the destroyer. As they could hardly decide in which
particular member of it the demon resided, they regarded all with equal
suspicion, and proceeded to wreak their vengeance to the uttermost upon
them all.
First, according to the usual custom, anonymous letters were dropped at
the gate, warning the family to flee, or dire would be the consequences.
When threats failed, armed with an order from the court, the whole
village appeared on the scene and compelled the family to flee for their
lives. No sooner were they out of the way than their two large teak
dwelling-houses, with rice-bins, outhouses, etc., were torn down and
scattered piecemeal over the lot. Not even a tree or shrub was left on
the place. To gain a breathing-spell, the family moved into a bamboo
shed hastily extemporized on the banks of the Mê Ping, some two miles
distant from what had been their home. By some accident they were
directed to our mission. They had learned that the King’s edict
protected the Christians, and, above all, that the Christian religion
protected them from all fear of evil spirits. And so they came to see if
it were true, and if there were any refuge for them.
Whatever was to be done for them in the way of earthly succor, must
evidently be done quickly. Their neighbours in their temporary refuge
would doubtless soon drive them away again. At the earnest entreaty of
the man I took one of the elders, and went down to look into the case
for myself. It was heart-rending. Whatever they had been able to snatch
from the wreck of a well-to-do home—beds, bedding, furniture, kitchen
utensils—was heaped up in a pile that covered the whole floor-space of
their shack. The great-grandmother, helpless in her dotage, and the
little children, were lying here and there wherever a smoother spot
could be found. Their case seemed almost hopeless as far as human aid
was concerned. Nān Chaiwana had himself appealed for aid both to the
court and to the governor, and had been told that there was nothing they
could do for him. The court was committed against him. The governor,
however, was personally friendly to us, and had shown no ill will
towards the man. It was barely possible that something might be
accomplished there. We all had worship together amid the confusion of
their hut—the first Christian service they had ever attended. They
assured us of their joyful acceptance of the Gospel, and pledged
obedience to all its teachings. We promised to do whatever we could in
their behalf, and returned home.
Next day Mr. Martin and I went down to Lampūn to call on the governor.
He was not at home, but in the rice-fields several miles out in the
country. We followed him there. He received us kindly, but said, “Were I
to make proclamation to protect that family, it would be impossible to
enforce it. Nearly everybody in that neighbourhood believes that the
bodies or ashes of fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, or children are
in that graveyard, sent there by the demon in that family. If you can
devise some plan to protect them, you are welcome to try it; but if they
return to that village, I cannot be responsible for the results.” When
told that they had now renounced the spirits, and put themselves under
the Great Spirit, he said, “That is all very well, but how am I to
convince the others that _they_ are safe?” We then begged that he would
give the place over to us. We wanted a place for preaching. We would put
up one of the houses and establish a Christian family in it, with
medicine to cure their fevers. I would oversee it, but would ask the
family to help in the work. To this he readily consented. We trusted his
promise, and we returned encouraged.
A few evenings later I arrived on the scene with our elder and some
other Christians, and pitched tent at the edge of the ricefield, a
hundred yards from the deserted lot, to engage in a contest with the
destroying demon. It was, moreover, a crucial contest as between
Christianity and demonism. Our whole future work in that province, and,
to a large extent, throughout the land, depended on the result. Soon
curiosity brought to our tent the head man and a large number of the
villagers. We spent the evening in preaching to them. When asked what we
proposed to do with the situation, we explained that we had come to take
possession of the house and lot—the governor had given it over to the
mission for a station. It was now the property of the Christians, over
whom the spirits had no power. It was to be dedicated to the Lord’s
work, and we even asked their aid.
Next morning we began work, bringing in some of the men of the outcast
family to assist in identifying and reassembling the scattered timbers
of the house. With much difficulty bone was joined to bone, and timber
to timber. In a few days some of the villagers offered to be hired to
help. One or two women of the family came over to cook for the workmen.
Before long one house was set up, roofed, and floored; whereupon we
moved up into it, and invited the neighbours to attend its dedication
that evening. The evening was spent in song and prayer and praise. Many
came up into the house. More listened from the ground below. We had
given quinine to the fever patients, who were glad to get well by the
help of Christian medicine. Meanwhile the epidemic subsided, and the
worst fears of the people were allayed.
When it became necessary for me to return to Chiengmai, I left the elder
to furnish moral support to the poor outcasts, who, little by little,
came back to their home, and became the Christian family which we had
promised to establish there. To save the land from being utterly lost to
him, Nān Chaiwana had mortgaged it to one of the princes for the
trifling sum of one hundred rupees. Not trusting to the prince’s
unselfishness, I took Nān Chaiwana’s own money, paid the mortgage, and
with some regret the prince released the property to me. Thus was it all
restored to the family. Mr. Martin and I visited the station as often as
we could. It became an interesting centre for our work, and ultimately
grew into the Bethel church.
* * * * *