Siamese government, and of its commissioners and representatives,
towards our mission. In all its history the only exception to this
uniform friendliness was in the case of the Commissioner who, in 1889,
succeeded Prayā Tēp Worachun. The Boys’ School was on an old deserted
monastery-site given by the Prince to Dr. Peoples for a medical or a
mission compound. An old ruined chēdi or pagoda was still standing on
it. Such lots, deserted by the monks, were then regarded as abodes of
the spirits, and on such the natives dared not live. In preparing for
the school buildings, the débris about the foot of the chēdi had been
dug away. One of the early acts of the new Commissioner was to send a
written notice to the mission that it was improper to use old Buddhist
shrines for purposes other than those for which they were originally
built; and he gave us notice that we were to have three months in which
to find other quarters. But as no other lot was offered in its place, we
remained quiet, and that was the last we heard of it.
Another incident, occurring soon after, was more serious, and gave us a
great deal of anxiety; for it came near costing the life of one of our
best native assistants. A deputation from some twelve or fifteen
families in Chieng Dāo came to us with a request that a native assistant
be sent up to teach them. Krū Nān Tā went up, and they became believers,
but required much further instruction. We selected Noi Siri, the most
prudent of our elders, for the task. We charged him specially, inasmuch
as it was in a province new to our work, to use great caution and give
no just cause of offence to the rulers or to others. He remained there a
month, and then was recalled by the illness of his wife. He stopped at
the mission to report progress, giving a good account of the conduct and
diligence of the new Christians.
Great was our surprise, then, in a few hours to learn that Noi Siri had
been arrested, put in heavy irons, and thrown into prison on a charge of
treason against the government. Mr. Collins, Mr. Dodd, and I called upon
the Commissioner to enquire the cause of his arrest. The Commissioner
replied, Yes; he had him arrested on the grave charge of disloyalty in
teaching the converts that they were exempt from government work. Such
teaching was treason; and if the charge were true, the penalty was
death. It was not, therefore, a bailable offence. At the same time, he
said, no specifications had been forwarded. He would summon the
accusers, and the man should have a fair trial, and should have the
privilege of producing any witnesses he pleased in his defence. That
was, of course, all that we could ask, save to beg that the trial be
hastened as far as possible—to which he consented. Krū Nān Tā was
allowed to see the prisoner in his cell. From him he learned that so far
was the accusation from being true, that he had taught the Christians
that they were _not_ exempt from government work; and that, furthermore,
no call had been made on them for service while he was there. We sent
immediately for all the Christian men to come down.
After some delay the prisoner was called into court and examined.
According to Siamese custom, his examination was taken down in writing.
“Are you Noi Siri, who has been teaching in Chieng Dāo?”
“Yes.”
“When did you go there to teach?”
“On the fourth of the third waning moon.”
“Have you taught that Christians are exempt from public service?”
“No. On the contrary, I taught that, as Siamese subjects, Christians are
to pay their taxes and perform all the duties of other subjects.”
The testimony of the governor of Chieng Dāo, his accuser, was then taken
in his presence. Among the questions asked him were these:
“Can you state any particular time and place when the Christians were
called to do government work and refused?”
“Yes. I called a man or two, and they did not obey.”
“When was that call made?”
“On the fourth day of the third waxing moon.”
This was the only specification which the governor gave. The date, it
will be noted, was fifteen days earlier than that of Noi Siri’s arrival
in Chieng Dāo. If the statement were true, it might have subjected the
persons who were summoned to trial and punishment for disloyalty; but it
absolutely cleared Noi Siri. An upright judge would have dismissed the
case. The Christian witnesses were in attendance to testify as to the
nature of the instruction they received; but were not given the
opportunity to do so. The accused man was remanded to prison. We waited,
but nothing was done. We called once more on the Commissioner; but were
told that the case had been referred to Bangkok, and he must wait for a
reply. We waited again. At last we made a written appeal on his behalf,
and in answer were told that the case was one with their own subjects,
and we had nothing to do with it. Meantime Noi Siri had become quite
ill, and all that we could do was to get him transferred from his
dungeon to the common prison.
Eight months after this, when Mr. Dodd went down to Bangkok to be
married to Miss Eakin, he made, through the United States Minister, an
appeal to the Prince Minister of the North, who promised an immediate
order for his release. As soon as we were assured of that, we went to
the resident Prince in Chiengmai, H. R. H. Prince Sonapandit, who
promised that the order should be issued at once. The next day we called
on the Commissioner to remind him of the Prince’s promise; but he and
the Judge had just gone out for a stroll in the city. It was then
Saturday afternoon. Next day was our communion service, and I was
determined to have Noi Siri present. To do this I had to follow those
men up at once. I was a fast walker, and, when necessary, could run. My
race after them was the ludicrous sequel of the case. Two high officials
closing their office and escaping, in order to keep their victim in
chains another night, pursued by swifter feet, and overtaken in the
street! The Judge acknowledged that the Prince had given the order. He
would attend to it to-morrow. Since to-morrow would be Sunday, I need
not come. But I knew that we should not see Noi Siri in time for our
worship unless I went for him. So on Sunday morning I called once more
on the Judge, who again said that I need not wait; but I had to tell him
that I would not return till I saw his release. So the prisoner was
called, and I saw the fetters taken off from his ankles.
The second bell was ringing when I entered the church; but Noi Siri was
with me. The congregation rose and sang the long metre doxology. There
were not many dry eyes in the room. Mr. Dodd preached from the text,
“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love
God.” Among the converts who then stood up to make a public profession
of faith was Nāng Su, a daughter of Noi Siri—and this happy coincidence
was no planning of ours.
Noi Siri’s faith had been tried by fire, and he had come forth from the
furnace as pure gold. In addition to his own imprisonment and distress,
his wife had been for months very low with sickness, and one of his
grandchildren had died during the interval. But from his prison cell he
had written to his family not to let their faith be shaken either by his
trials or by their own. During the eight months and ten days of his
imprisonment, one hundred and thirty-three persons—his daughter closing
the list—were received into church-membership. A European in employ of
the government, who had cognizance of the whole case, afterwards said to
me, “It might be well to get the Commissioner to imprison a few more
Christians!” A history of the case was afterwards published by our Board
in a leaflet entitled, “The Laos Prisoner.”
Before the close of the year there was an event which for the time came
near to overthrowing the government. A new tax, levied chiefly on areca
trees, caused much exasperation throughout the country. As usual, the
tax was farmed out to Chinese for collection. The local officers in
various districts formed a coalition to resist to the uttermost the
collection of the tax. Of course, this could not be allowed, since the
collectors were the agents of the government. The resistance was centred
chiefly in the districts to the eastward of the city, where Prayā Pāp,
who had some reputation as a soldier, went so far as to gather a
considerable force of the insurgents within a few miles of Chiengmai. A
day even was set for their attack on the city. If they had made a dash
then, they could easily have taken it, for the sympathy of the people
was wholly with them, and the government was unprepared.
Our house was only two hundred yards away from the Chinese distillery,
which was the objective of the insurgents. The residence of the
Commissioner and that of the Siamese Prince Sonapandit were nearly
opposite us on the other side of the river. Our position was further
compromised by the fact that the wives and children of a number of
influential Chinese had almost forcibly taken refuge in our compound. In
any case, we should have been in a position of great danger from the
guns on the other side of the river aimed at the distillery. We were
strongly advised to take refuge in the British Consulate, whose shelter
was kindly offered us. But the whole population in our neighbourhood was
watching us. If we stirred, there would have been a general stampede.
Fortunately for themselves and for the country, the courage of the
common people failed. One after another they deserted the leader, till
at last he also fled. He was caught, however, and with seven other
leaders was executed. This was the end of the matter in Chiengmai; but
certain parties of the insurgents, escaping northwards, became roving
bands of marauders that for some time disturbed the peace of the
frontier towns. The rebellion never had any chance of ultimate success;
but had the attack on the city been actually made, the immediate
consequences would have been direful, and untold calamity would have
been entailed on the whole country.
The arrival of Dr. McKean at the close of the year marked an era in our
medical work. He was accompanied by our daughter, Miss Cornelia H.
McGilvary, now Mrs. William Harris Jun. It was the pleasant duty of Mrs.
McGilvary to escort the party up from Bangkok. The appointment of our
daughter was no less a surprise than a delight to us. During her school
days she always said that she would not become a missionary. When the
question came up for final settlement, she fought it out in her own mind
alone, and reached her own decision. The Lāo language, which, during her
ten years’ absence, she seemed to have lost entirely, came back to her
very soon and with little effort.
It has been Dr. McKean’s privilege to continue the work begun by able
physicians, and to carry it to a higher degree of efficiency. He has
combined, as most of our physicians have done, the two great objects of
the medical missionary, the medical and the evangelistic, making the
former a means to the latter. While the professional and the charitable
features of the work have not been minimized, but rather magnified, no
minister has more loved to preach the Gospel, or has been more
successful in it. At the same time it may be that the great work now
enlisting his sympathy and his strenuous efforts—the establishment of a
leper colony and hospital, and the amelioration of the condition of that
unfortunate class—may be the one with which his name will be most
intimately associated.
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XXVIII
CIRCUIT TOUR WITH MY DAUGHTER, 1890
I had been appointed by Presbytery to organize in Chieng Rāi the church
which was not found ready for organization on my previous visit. I had
planned for a tour longer than usual, to include the eastern provinces
as far as Nān, as well as the northern ones, and expected to take with
me native assistants only. But upon the arrival of our reinforcement, I
was no less surprised than delighted to find that my daughter desired to
accompany me; and so it was arranged.
Starting on February 5th, we spent the first Sunday in Lakawn. Here we
met another surprise. Mr. Taylor had spent his first year in that
annoying work for the new missionary, the building of a house. He was
anxious to get out among the people, but feared he was not sufficiently
versed in the language to make profitable a tour alone. He and Mrs.
Taylor would join us if they could get elephants—a matter which was
easily arranged. Mr. Taylor proved to be an efficient helper. My
daughter had a delightful companion, and it was a great pleasure to
initiate the new missionaries into the evangelistic work which Dr. and
Mrs. Taylor since then have carried on so successfully for twenty years.
It is still their delight—may they live to carry it on for many years to
come!
One of the chief diversions of the trip thenceforward was afforded by
the pranks of an uncommonly mischievous baby-elephant which accompanied
its mother. On one occasion a footman coming towards us stepped out of
the trail and stood beside a large tree to let us pass. The mischievous
creature saw his opportunity, and before the man knew what was up, he
found himself fast pinioned between the elephant’s head and the tree
trunk. The frightened man extricated himself with loud outcry, while the
beholders were convulsed with laughter. Our own men were constantly the
victims of his pranks; so that, one day, I told them that there would be
no trouble if they would only leave the creature alone—adding, by way of
clinching my advice, “You see, he never troubles me.” Just then, to the
great delight of all, he made straight for me, and if there had been a
tree behind me I should have been in the same unpleasant position in
which the footman found himself.
Mr. Taylor’s account of the earlier portion of the trip is as follows:
“We left Lakawn on the 12th of February with Dr. McGilvary and
his daughter, and in four days reached Mûang Prê. Our tents were
pitched by the road just outside the city gate. The advent of
four foreigners, two of whom were women, created quite a stir;
and we were all kept abundantly busy in visiting and being
visited. Mrs. Taylor and Miss McGilvary were the first white
ladies to visit the place; and of course, much to their own
discomfort, were the centre of attraction....
“The people of Prê seemed very ready to listen to the Gospel; so
plenty of auditors were found everywhere. On Sabbath, the 16th,
the first convert in Prê was baptized. He is a blind man, Noi
Wong by name, who came to Lakawn to have Dr. Peoples operate on
his eyes; but as nothing could be done for him, he returned home
carrying in his heart some of the teachings there received, and
in his hand a manuscript copy of a small catechism I was able to
spare him. From his answers before the session, it was evident
that he had used his brother’s eyes well in having it read to
him.
“On Wednesday we started on for Nān, and arrived there the
following Tuesday. We received a very cordial welcome from the
officials of that city, who sent a man to put in order a
rest-house for us, and another to conduct our elephants to a
place for food and water. Next day, after the court closed,
some of the officials came to visit us. After wading through
the crowds on the first and second verandas, and finally
planting himself cross-legged in the middle of the thronged
reception-room, their Chief said they thought we would be
lonesome; so they had come to visit us. No idea could have
been more comical to us; but he was seriously in earnest, and
explained that he had never known the people to visit with
other foreigners who had come to their city. They would not,
however, listen well when the subject of religion was
broached, and with one or two exceptions would not attend any
of our services.”
The morning after our arrival in Nān, my daughter met in the
market-place a daughter of the Prince, and, before she was aware, found
herself escorted into the palace. Her newly recovered language stood her
in good stead, and she had a pleasant talk with the Prince and his
daughters and wives. Next day he sent word that he would be pleased to
give our party an audience. He was of venerable age, and second only to
our Chiengmai Prince in his influence at the court of Bangkok. He
expressed his pleasure at our visit to his country. He was too old to
embrace a new religion. We might teach his children and grandchildren.
What they would do he did not know.
At Nān the Taylors left us, returning to their station, while we
journeyed on. Our next stage was Chieng Kawng, one hundred and fifty
miles to the northwest. We usually stopped for the night at large
villages, or sometimes in small towns. But once we spent two days in the
forest, where bears, tigers, and wild elephants abound. The first
evening we just missed the sight of three tigers. Our men had gone on
ahead to select a camping-place for the night, and saw a mother with two
cubs crossing the road. Next morning one of my elephants, that had been
hobbled and turned loose, was not on hand. It was nothing unusual for
one of them to be a little belated, so we loaded up the others and
prepared for starting. But when an hour had passed, and then two hours,
and the elephant still did not come, we unloaded them and waited a long
weary day and an anxious night. Early next morning, however, the driver
appeared. That was a relief, but still there was no elephant. He had
followed her trail over the mountain ridge, down gorges, and across
knolls, till, tired and hungry, he had retraced his steps. Night
overtook him, and, crouched under a tree, he had caught snatches of
sleep while keeping watch for tigers. For two nights and a day he had
not tasted food. With an elephant’s instinct, the beast was making her
way towards her old range in Chieng Rāi, many days distant. It was a
relief to know that she had not joined a large wild herd, in which case
her capture would be practically impossible.
We could not remain indefinitely in the forest. So giving the driver
food, a gun, and two carriers for company, with instructions not to
return till the elephant was found, we moved on five or six miles to the
next village, Bān Kêm. This was the noon of Wednesday. Our detention
seemed providential. We found the place fever-stricken. Our medicines at
once made us friends. Our tent was crowded with visitors, so that I had
little time to think of the lost elephant. The people seemed hungry for
the Gospel. Three substantial men in the village, on the night before we
left, professed a sincere and cordial acceptance of Jesus as their
Saviour.
On Saturday, shortly after midday, there was a shout, “Here comes Lung
Noi with the elephant!” I was both glad and sorry to hear it. Had I been
alone, I should have remained longer. But we had lost so much time, that
every one was eager to depart. I promised if possible to come again, but
the time never came.
Chieng Kawng was our next point, a place I had visited with Dr. Vrooman
seventeen years before. The young lad who then was so much interested in
my repeating rifle was now governor, and came running out, bareheaded
and barefooted, to welcome us. In the interval I had met him from time
to time in Chiengmai, and he always begged that I would make him another
visit. I had been better than my word—I had come at last, and brought my
daughter, too. His brother, the second governor, had seen us in time to
don his audience dress, and he appeared more like a white man than any
one we had seen since the Taylors left us. He was ready to start on an
expedition to Mûang Sing, five days northward beyond the Mê Kōng. The
Prince of Nān had received permission from the King of Siam to repeople
that old province. Hence this expedition. The leader had three hundred
men, and gave me a cordial invitation to go as chaplain and physician!
After this, while the work was well under way, the territory was turned
over to France as the result of the long and troubled negotiations over
the boundary between Siam and French Indo-China.
The wives of both the governors could scarcely be content with my
daughter’s short stay. They would surely become Christians, if she would
remain one month to teach them. All I could do was to promise once more
to come again if possible. The promised visit was made two years later,
but then the “Nāi” was not along.
From there the only travelled route to Chieng Sên was by Chieng Rāi,
both hot and circuitous. The alternative was a blind, untravelled track
through the forest, made over forty years before, when Siam sent its
last unfortunate expedition against Keng Tung. Here was a tempting
chance to test the old proverb, Where there’s a will, there’s a way. The
governor procured a noted hunter to guide us. Every carrier and driver
and servant in the party carried his bush knife, and all promised to aid
if we only would take the cooler road. It was, however, literally making
in the forest “a highway for our God,” over which several missionary
tours have since been made. In the denser parts of the forest, we could
force our way only by cutting away branches and small trees, and at
times felling clumps of bamboo.
We had a cool place for rest and worship on Sunday. Our hunter had not
promised to keep the Sabbath, and we were on his old hunting-grounds,
where game of all kinds abounded. At dawn he was off with his gun, and
we saw no more of him till sunset, when he appeared smiling, with some
choice cuts of beef hanging from the barrel of his gun. He had found and
followed, all day, a herd of wild cattle—the Kating—and succeeded in
killing one of them near our road, a mile or more ahead of our camp.
Though killed on Sunday, we ate it and asked no questions for
conscience’ sake. It was surely the most delicious beef we ever tasted.
We should have had a mutiny the next day, had we proposed to pass on
without stopping to save the meat. And what a huge creature it was. It
must have weighed nearly a ton. Our men extemporized frames over the
fire, and were busy cutting up the meat and drying it until late at
night. Next day each man went loaded with it to his utmost capacity.
What we could not carry away, the guide stored in the fork of a tree
against his return.
The journey through the forest was shorter and far more comfortable than
would have been the regular route. When next I travelled it, it had
become a public highway. And as long as I continued to journey that way,
it was known as the “Teacher’s Road.”
Chieng Sên was the limit of our trip. Before reaching it, we began to
hear rumours of war—that the city was blockaded, no one being permitted
to enter or depart. The country population had been called in to defend
the city, etc., etc. We were advised to return, but kept on. At the gate
the guard admitted us without difficulty.
The disturbance was the aftermath of the previous year’s tax-rebellion,
which, as we supposed, was completely ended before we left home. But a
portion of the insurgents had fled to Keng Tung, and, gathering there a
larger force, came south again as far as Mûang Fāng, where they were
either captured or again scattered. It was the fear that this lawless
band, on its retreat northward, might attack and plunder the city, that
caused the confusion. But the fugitives would have been fools to linger
about two weeks after their defeat, when they knew that both the army
behind them and the country in front of them would be on the alert for
their capture. The governor was delighted to see us, and we were able in
some degree to allay his fears. We were there, too, to speak a word of
comfort to our own flock, who, like the rest, had been called in to
protect the city. The panic gradually subsided, and the people returned
to their homes. Owing in part to the unsettled condition of the country,
we did not remain long in Chieng Sên; but long enough to visit in their
homes every Christian family save one, and to have a delightful
communion season with the church on Sunday.
Our special commission on this tour was to organize a church in Chieng
Rāi, where our next Sunday was spent. Our governor friend was
disappointed that we had not come to take possession of the fine lot on
the bank of the Mê Kok which he had given us. At his suggestion a house
on it was purchased from his son at a nominal price, with the promise
that we would urge the mission to occupy it the next year. On April
13th, the three sections of the church assembled by invitation at Mê
Kawn. The obstacles which prevented the organization before were now
removed. Fifty-one communicants and thirty-two non-communing members
were enrolled, two ruling elders were elected and ordained, and the new
church started with fair prospects.