side of the Mê Ping. One day a man came in from the “Big Tamarind Tree
Village” to tell us that his whole village had become Christians, and
were building a chapel. When it was finished, he would invite us to come
down and indoctrinate the people in the teachings of our religion. This
was something new, and, of course, most interesting. In due time the man
came to Chiengmai to inform us that the chapel was finished, and we were
invited to go down, take possession, dedicate it, and teach the people.
On the following Friday, Mr. Martin and I took boat and went to the
village landing, where we separated, he going east to receive and
baptize the converts in the “new home of the teachers,” as the house at
Bān Pên long was called; and I to dedicate the new chapel at the “Big
Tamarind Tree Village.” I found the chapel there all right, and the
whole village assembled to welcome the teacher; and, apparently, like
the audience that Peter found in the house of Cornelius, ready “to hear
words whereby they might be saved.” The chapel was built mostly of
bamboo, but so new and neat that I complimented the villagers, and
expressed my great delight. After our reception, I invited them up into
the chapel for worship, and began by announcing a hymn, and inviting
them to join in learning to sing it; expecting, with my assistant and
other Christians who had accompanied me, to spend the time in teaching
them what Christianity is; presuming that their reception of it was a
foregone conclusion.
But somehow things did not seem to run smoothly. I was conscious of
being in a wrong atmosphere. The leader of the movement seemed ill at
ease. None entered in with the accustomed zeal of new converts. My
assistant noticed the same thing, and whispered in my ear that something
was wrong. They were whispering to him, “Where is the money?” “What
money?” “Why, the fifty or one hundred rupees that we were told would
surely be forthcoming to every family that aided in the building, and
that entered the new religion. The foreigners are rich, and, of course,
will be delighted to distribute money freely.” The leader, of course,
expected the lion’s share. It had all been a mere business venture on
his part—or, rather, a swindle! This was on Saturday. On Monday morning
Mr. Martin and I met at the boat according to agreement, he to report a
good day and the baptism of ten adults along with as many children, and
the reception of a number of catechumens; and I to confess how I had
been sold.
* * * * *
In the summer of 1885 a most interesting work was started in some
villages to the southwest of the city. Our indefatigable Nān Tā had
visited that region, and many had professed their faith. Mr. Martin and
I both responded to the call, and made a number of visits there. Two
chapels were built by the enquirers, one at Lawng Kum, and one at Chāng
Kam. I quote the following account of this work from the New York
_Observer_:
“June 9th, 1885.—I have just returned from the villages referred
to in my last letter. I found twenty-two families of professed
believers at Lawng Kum Chapel, which with the aid of a few
dollars from elsewhere they had succeeded in building. Among
them are at least six persons who give good evidence of a change
of heart, and the rest are interesting enquirers. Ten miles from
there, at Chāng Kam, I visited by invitation another company who
had renounced Buddhism, and who call themselves Christians. On
arriving there a roll of thirty-five families was handed me.
Most of them had attended worship at times in the chapel at
Chiengmai, and a few of them are no doubt true Christians. Here
also we secured a native house for a chapel. They contributed a
part of the small sum needed, while in this case, as in the
other, their contribution was supplemented from the monthly
contributions of the church in Chiengmai. Deputations have been
sent also from places still further away, representing in one
case twenty, and in another case twelve families enrolled by
themselves, with others only waiting for the arrival of a
teacher.
“It is probably premature to predict what will be the result of
all this. The simultaneousness of the movement in villages
thirty or forty miles apart is remarkable. It shows a longing
for something they have not. To turn this awakening to most
account, we need more help, both native and foreign. Mr. Martin
enters into the work with all his zeal, and has contributed no
little toward keeping up the interest.”
Our expectations in regard to the work at Lawng Kum were disappointed
mainly by removals of families to other places. The chapel in Chāng Kam
was burned down by incendiaries, but was soon replaced, and the village
has continued to be one of our most important out-stations. Its people
have recently [1910] built a new and large chapel, and will soon be
organized into a church. One zealous man in Mê Āo led first his own
family and then his neighbours into the faith, till they, too, have now
a chapel built of teak, with a band of faithful workers to worship in
it.
Our first visits to these new places were intensely interesting. It
seemed as if the Gospel would be embraced by whole villages. But the
burning of the chapel tells a tale of a strong adverse influence.
Opposition usually drives off the timid and the merely curious. The
lines, then, are sharply drawn, and the Christian society really finds
itself.
During the last week of the year I spent a few days at the village of Mê
Dawk Dêng to hold a communion service there, and incidentally to give my
family and the teachers of the Girls’ School a much-needed outing. It
was at the height of the rice-harvest, and, one evening, we all greatly
enjoyed the sight of a regular rice-threshing “bee” at the farm of one
of our elders. The “bee” is always at night. The bundles of rice from
the harvest-field are piled up so as to form a wall five feet high
around a space of some twenty-five feet square, with an opening for
entrance at one corner. In the centre of this square is a horizontal
frame of bamboo poles, against which the bundles of rice-heads are
forcibly struck. The grain falls to the ground below, and the straw is
tossed outside. In those days the whole plain at rice-harvest was
lighted up by bonfires of the burning straw—a glorious sight as I have
watched it from Doi Sutēp.
We pitched our tent near by to enjoy the scene. The men and boys do the
threshing, while the women and girls do the cooking for the feast with
which the work ends. The village maidens are always on hand to encourage
their beaux in their work by passing to them water or betel-nut, and to
serve the viands at the feast. It reminded me much of the husking bees I
had seen as a lad in the South seventy years ago. How near of kin is all
the world!
We had a delightful communion service on the Sabbath. Seven adults and
six children were baptized. On Monday morning we returned home refreshed
and better prepared for the work before us.
* * * * *
[Illustration:
MARKET SCENE IN CHIENGMAI]
[Illustration:
IN THE HARVEST FIELD]
The year had been one of marked progress. The Girls’ School had been
strengthened by the arrival of Miss Lizzie Westervelt. The new station
at Lakawn had been opened, and Dr. and Mrs. Peoples had been installed
there. More new work had been opened in the neighbourhood of Chiengmai
and Lampūn than in any one year of the history of the mission. One
hundred and two adults were added to the communion roll, and about as
many children were baptized. Our new “witchcraft-house” at Bān Pên, with
its hospitable family, afforded a comfortable prophet’s chamber for the
missionaries and a chapel for worship. The Bethel church was afterwards
organized in it. That family became highly respected, and has furnished
some of the most influential members of our church. The work in Nawng
Fān, seven miles south of Chiengmai—Nān Inta’s village—had steadily
grown. It still continues to be one of our best out-stations, and will,
during the present year [1910] be organized into a church.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXV
CHRISTIAN COMMUNITIES PLANTED
The year 1886 opened auspiciously. But Mr. Martin had brought malaria in
his system from his old home; and the Lāo country is a better place for
contracting the infection than for eradicating it. He worked
indefatigably, but seldom with a blood-temperature down to the normal.
In January he accepted an invitation from Mr. Gould, the British
Vice-Consul, to accompany him on a tour of inspection through the
northern provinces, hoping that the change might prove beneficial. It
afforded, moreover, opportunity for some missionary work in places
seldom or never visited. He was the first to visit the Mūsô villages
high up among the mountains. He baptized a few converts in Chieng Sên,
and reported an interest there that should be followed up.
About this same time Krū Nān Tā—for such, though not yet ordained, I
shall in future call him—returned from Chieng Rāi with a most
encouraging report of developments there. Later a deputation of seven
men, with Tāo Tēpasing as their leader, came to us from the village of
Mê Kawn in the Chieng Rāi province, earnestly entreating a visit from
the missionary. In their number was Pū King from Chieng Rāi, who had
been a notorious bandit, robber, and murderer. He had now submitted to
the government, and was given a place as public executioner and as doer
of other jobs from which only a lawless man would not shrink. Before
meeting Krū Nān Tā, he had gone so deep in sin that no hope was left
him, and he became hardened in despair. But his conscience was ill at
ease. Hearing rumours of the Christian religion, he determined that if
it could give him hope of pardon, he would seek it at any cost. He and
his wife walked one hundred and ten miles to see if it were really true
that Jesus could save even him. Our good friend the governor encouraged
his coming, and said, “If the Christian religion can make a good man out
of Pū King, I shall have no more doubts of its truth and power.” And we
have no doubt that it did that very thing.
In a few days Krū Nān Tā and I returned with the party. Elder Āi Tū of
Chieng Rāi,[14] with his family, accompanied us. We thus had quite a
little congregation to worship nightly about the camp-fire, and every
one of the party was either a Christian or an enquirer. This was my
third trip to the north, and the first of those annual trips that have
made that road so familiar to me.
Footnote 14:
Afterwards Prayā Pakdī.
The little colony of Christians at Wieng Pā Pāo was prospering. One of
them was the man whom his wife had driven off, elephants and all, for
witchcraft. Nān Tā reported the governor of the place as a believer. He
had ceased to make offerings in temples, and he ridiculed the idols. He
received us most hospitably, and desired to have a mission station
there. Afterwards, however, through policy and the influence of a
Burmese son-in-law, he resumed his old worship; though to the last in
his heart of hearts, I think, he believed our teachings to be true. In
the case of subordinate officials, the final step of joining the church
is terribly hard to take.
At Salī Toi, “Grandma” Pan had been praying day and night for our
coming. She lived some distance away from the road, and feared that we
might pass her by. She was overjoyed to see us, and we had to check the
homage she offered us. The poor woman was sadly in need of support. She
was the only Christian in the place, and was surrounded by hostile
neighbours who absolutely rebelled against her establishing herself in
the place. Her family had renounced the spirits, and therefore her
“patriarch,” to whom she could rightly look for protection, became her
chief accuser. He went to the governor of Chieng Rāi for an order
forbidding her to settle there. But he had his thirty-mile walk for his
trouble. The governor told him that the family was not to be interfered
with. How could he forbid those whom the King’s edict allowed?
Having failed with the governor, they tried to draw away the
daughter-in-law. But she said she would stick by her husband and his
family. Their religion should be her religion, and their God should be
her God. The villagers then notified the family that it would be held
responsible for the value of any buffalo or elephant that might die in
the village. The theory was that the demons would take vengeance on the
village for allowing the trespass of an enemy on their domains. But all
their efforts to shake the poor woman’s faith were futile.
At Mê Kawn village, from which the delegation had chiefly come, of
course we were received with a warm welcome. On the recent visit of Nān
Tā, when the leading supporters of the temple became Christians, the
less religious families also deserted it. I even saw oxen sheltered from
the rain under its roof. A club-footed man, Noi Tāliya by name, a good
scholar in Ngīo, Burmese, and Lāo, had been the life of the temple. And
it is the earnest Buddhist that makes the earnest Christian. His son
first heard the Gospel, and, coming home, explained it to his father.
Calling his family together, the father said to them, “There are the
spirit shrines. Any one may have them who wishes to continue their
worship.” No one making a bid for them, a bonfire was made, and the once
valued treasures all vanished in smoke. When he went to Chieng Rāi to
announce his conversion to the governor and to the Uparāt, he said that
he prayed all the way that he might answer their questions discreetly
and wisely. He did not know that the governor had no more confidence in
his deserted idols and spirits than he himself had.
On the evening of our arrival, the largest house in the village was
filled to overflowing till late in the night. Before Sunday the people
had extemporized a chapel which afterwards became the foundation of the
Mê Kawn church. Two Sundays were spent in teaching these people before
we moved on to Chieng Rāi, leaving the new disciples under the oversight
of Noi Tāliya.
On reaching Chieng Rāi we were invited by the governor to take up our
quarters in his old residence, which we did. It was a better house than
his present one, but there had been two deaths in it, and it was
pronounced unlucky. He knew we were not afraid of ill luck. On the
contrary, it was very good luck that we got it, for the rains were now
falling daily. The governor and Nān Tā were near relatives and very
intimate friends withal. His interest in us was as teachers of the only
religion that ever afforded him a ray of hope. But on this trip Pū King,
the reformed bandit, and his family, were the centre of our interest
there. And it was not long before he, too, like Saul of Tarsus, became a
striking illustration of the grace of God.
A few hours beyond Chieng Rāi on the road to Chieng Sên, was the home of
Āi Tū. His was the first Christian family in the province. He had
built—in part that it might furnish a guest-chamber for the missionary
on his visits, and in part that it might serve as a chapel for
worship—the largest house in all that neighbourhood. When we arrived, he
had already vacated it for us, and had moved his family down into a
shed. A number of families had begun to attend worship, and to keep the
Sabbath; but were frightened away by that ridiculously stale story that
missionaries were making Christians in order to carry them off in their
ships to feed the Yaks! Strange that such a palpable absurdity should
deceive any one; yet we have known whole villages to be frightened away
by it.
At Chieng Sên, in the home of Nān Suwan, we were at once aware of being
in a Christian atmosphere—in a consecrated Christian family. That family
was a city set upon a hill—a leaven in the new city and province. It
alone had given Christianity a good name. The governor was free to say
that if Christianity made such men as Nān Suwan, he would like to see
the whole country Christian. The influence of the Girls’ School in
Chiengmai was strongly reflected in his daughter, Kuī Kêo. She taught no
regular school other than her Sunday School; but from time to time
during the week she taught the neighbours. Young men who began by trying
to ridicule her out of her religion, now treated her with the greatest
respect. We were told that rude young fellows singing vulgar songs would
lower their voices when passing by the house.
We crossed the river in a small boat to spend a few days in teaching
four new families of Christians on the eastern side. One of the men was
Tāo Rāt, the village officer, and another was his son, Noi Chai. The
latter became an influential ruling elder, and, like Nān Suwan, one of
the pillars of the church.
From Chieng Sên we crossed the broad prairie-like plain westward to Bān
Tam. The officer of the village was Sên Yā Wichai—mentioned in the early
part of this narrative as the very first believer in Chiengmai. The
journey was one of the worst for elephants that I ever made. Heavy rains
had soaked the ground so that at every step it seemed almost impossible
for them to pull their huge feet out of their tracks. The Sên lived only
a quarter of a mile from a remarkable feature of the mountain ridge. The
Mê Tam, the largest river in the plain, flows bodily out from under the
mountain, much as does one of the sources of the Mê Ping at Chieng Dāo.
It was a great pleasure to spend a Sunday with our now venerable
Christian and his family. It was a family of officers, his three sons
all being either of the grade of Tāo or of Sên—which shows the esteem in
which the family was held. But, unfortunately, their official position
made it more difficult for the sons to follow the example of their
father.
On Sunday night the rain came down in torrents, reminding us that it was
better for us to be at home. We started homeward early the next morning.
Our route skirted the beautiful mountain range, crossing brooks and the
larger streams of the Mê Tam and the Mê Chan. Already the road had
become almost impassable except for elephants and natives unencumbered
with shoes or trousers.
We have already spoken of the great mortality incurred in the attempt to
people these new Lāo states. Occasionally the straggling remnant of a
family might be seen returning. One poor little boy awakened my deepest
sympathy. All of his family had died except himself and his brother, a
monk, who were trying to save themselves by flight back to their old
home in the province of Chiengmai. After I passed them I began to wonder
whether the pale, weary-faced, and exhausted travellers would ever reach
the rest they sought. Then I began to think that here I was enacting
again the old tale of the priest and the Levite who passed by on the
other side. At last I could stand it no longer. I stopped and waited for
them to come up. I offered the pitiful little skeleton of a boy a seat
with me on the back of the elephant. At first he somewhat distrusted my
motive, wondering what I wanted to do with him; but he was too weary to
refuse. When he revived, he proved to be a veritable little chatterbox,
and good company. I kept him nearly a week, till we entered the
Chiengmai plain at Doi Saket. Only four years ago, eleven children out
of five Christian families who had settled in Wieng Pā Pāo, died during
the first year.
Returning through Chieng Rāi, we revisited the new families of
Christians in that province. In the city the governor’s wife asked us to
have worship in their new house, to which they reverently listened. When
we ended she said, “Why, they pray for everybody!” Pū King, the
executioner, was holding on with a death-grip to the hope of salvation
for the chief of sinners. The case of the apostle himself, and of the
penitent thief, greatly encouraged him. Nān Tā also was greatly rejoiced
that his brother Sên Kat became a believer on this tour.
On my return I found Mr. Martin but little, if at all, improved, by his
trip. He was so thoroughly discouraged that he felt that he could not
face another hot season. He remained with us till the end of the rainy
season, and then, with his family, left Siam for the United States. I
never had felt so thoroughly crushed as I was at his departure. During
three whole years we had lived in the same house, and worked together
hand in hand in the evangelistic work, of which he was very fond.
Dr. Cheek already had severed his official connection with the mission,
and had gone into business of his own. But he kindly gave his
professional service to the missionaries, and was ready to perform
pressing surgical operations for the natives who came to the hospital.
* * * * *
I have often wondered whether all foreign missions, have as many and as
rapid alternations of sunshine and shadow, as the Lāo mission. Our
medical work was once more at a standstill; and by the departure of Mr.
Martin, the evangelistic work again was crippled. But at Hong Kong Mr.
Martin met Rev. and Mrs. D. G. Collins, Dr. and Mrs. A. M. Cary, and
Rev. W. C. Dodd, on their way out for the Lāo mission, with Rev. W. G.
McClure for Lower Siam. Mrs. Cary had become so exhausted by continual
sea-sickness during the whole voyage, that, on her arrival in Bangkok,
many thought her unable to endure the long river trip of six or seven
weeks. Mr. McClure offered to exchange fields with the Carys; but Mrs.
Cary, with true pluck, said that she had been appointed to the Lāo
mission, and to the Lāo she would go. But, alas! it was to be otherwise.
She became worse soon after leaving Bangkok. On Sunday, January 16th,
1887, a mile above Rahêng, she became unconscious, and shortly after
gently passed into her everlasting rest.
It was still a month’s journey to their destination. There was nothing
to be done but to lay the body to rest in the grounds of a monastery.
Who can portray that parting scene, or adequately sympathize with the
bereaved husband and sister (Mrs. Collins), or with the other members of
the party, as they performed the last sad offices, and then resumed
their lonesome journey!
When the party reached Chiengmai on the 17th of February, they found
there only the McGilvarys, Miss Griffin, and Miss Westervelt. Miss Cole
had gone to Bangkok. But the Girls’ School was flourishing under the
direction of the two ladies last mentioned. Former pupils of the school
were then doing good service in three different provinces as teachers.
But the arrival of the new forces made possible for the first time a
Boys’ High School. Circumstances now were much more favourable than they
were when Mr. Wilson made the attempt in the earlier days of the
mission. We now had Christian patrons, and there was a growing desire in
the land for education. Buddhist pupils were willing and anxious to
attend our school. Mr. Collins preferred the educational work. As soon
as he acquired the language sufficiently well, he was put in charge of
the school for boys, and it was soon crowded with pupils.
[Illustration:
GIRLS’ SCHOOL IN CHIENGMAI
1892]
Mr. Dodd’s preference was along the line of a Training School for
Christian workers. Happily, the taste and preference of both these men
were along the lines of greatest need. Meanwhile Mr. Dodd entered into
the evangelistic work also with a zeal that has never abated. As
newcomers see things with different eyes, it is always interesting to
get their first impressions. Mr. Dodd’s first experience is thus given
in a letter to the Board of June 9th, 1887: