found all well, and the work prospering along all the lines. It was none
too soon, however. We were just in time to escape the rise of the
streams. At our last encampment on the Mê Kūang we had a great storm of
wind and rain, with trees and branches falling about us. The trip was a
long one for my daughter; but her presence greatly enhanced the
importance of the tour. On my subsequent tours through that region the
first question always was, “Did you bring the Nāi?” and the second, “Why
not?”
On our return we were surprised to find Dr. McKean in a new and
comfortable teak house, toward the erection of which neither axe nor saw
nor plane had been used when we left. The saw-mill could deliver at once
whatever was needed. But _my_ house had been seven years in building!
By this time nearly all the Lāo cities of Siam had been visited by
missionaries. In two of them—Chiengmai and Lakawn—we had established
permanent stations. For the third station, Chieng Rāi seemed to present
the strongest claim. Politically it was not so important as Nān. But
Nān, while very cordial to foreigners personally, was very jealous about
admitting foreign influence of any kind. And the absolute control of the
people by the princes of Nān would be an obstacle in the way of the
acceptance of Christianity there until the princes themselves embraced
it. In Chieng Rāi province the governor was known to be favourable to
the Jesus-religion. Its broad plains and fertile soil were sure to
attract a large immigration from the south, where population is dense
and land very dear. The city is about equidistant from the five cities
of Wieng Pā Pāo on the south, Mûang Fāng on the west, Chieng Sên on the
north, Chieng Kawng on the northeast, and Chieng Kam on the east. In our
reports to the mission and to the Board, these facts were urged as
arguments for the establishment of a station there. The mission gave its
cordial sanction to a temporary occupancy. A longer tour was authorized
for the next season; but the heavy debt of the Board forbade the
expenditure of more than two hundred and fifty rupees for a temporary
house in order to secure the land which had been given us. Our long
delay sorely shook the good governor’s faith that we would ever come.
The arrival of young missionaries on the field rendered some kind of
physical and social recreation necessary. Croquet had formerly been
tried, but it gave very little exercise, and had been supplanted by the
better game of lawn tennis. In the fall of 1890, Mrs. McGilvary prepared
a court in our front lot, and invited the missionaries and the small
European community to an “At Home” on Tuesdays at 4:30 P.M. The game
furnished the very exercise needed after a day’s confinement in school
or study. It proved so beneficial to health and to efficiency in work,
that the “At Home” was continued, with occasional interruptions from
weather or other causes, for thirteen or fourteen years. This was Mrs.
McGilvary’s little contribution to the health and the social recreation
of the community in which we lived; and it was highly appreciated.
In August I had occasion to visit Wieng Pā Pāo. Before I was out of the
Chiengmai plain I had an exciting runaway on my big sadaw elephant. A
mother cow was grazing at some little distance from her calf. As the
elephant approached the calf, the mother became alarmed for its safety,
and rushed frantically towards it, bellowing to the utmost capacity of
her lungs. This was quite too much for my big timid beast. He started
off at a fearful pace, which the driver in vain endeavoured to control.
Fortunately it was on an open plain with no woods or trees. The same
elephant on a previous occasion, when Mrs. McGilvary was riding him, on
some slight alarm rushed off into a thicket of low trees; and once, with
me on his back, went crashing through the standing timber in the forest.
In both cases it was nothing but the strength of the three-strand rattan
girth that saved either howdah or rider. The elephant’s fastest run is
not a “lope,” but a kind of long swing from side to side. It is an awful
sensation. I never was in an earthquake, but I imagine the two
experiences must be somewhat similar, with the fear in this case of
being at any instant dashed from your lofty perch to the ground.
The special reason for this trip was the fear of some collision or
trouble between the government and the Christians with regard to the
Sunday question. Besides keeping their own Sabbath, the Christians were
forbidden to do any manual work on the Buddhist sacred days as well,
making altogether eight days in each month. Had the rule been the
outcome of conscientious scruples on the part of a religious people at
seeing their sacred day desecrated, we should have respected their
scruples. But the day was a mere holiday, and, except by a few of the
more religious, it was largely spent in hunting and fishing. I had to
remind the governor of his beautiful inconsistency. He would not allow
the Christians to use an axe or a plow on sacred days, while the people
generally were allowed to kill animals, thus breaking the most stringent
of Buddha’s laws. He must have felt the force of the argument, for
before the very next sacred day an order was issued forbidding hunting
and fishing on it.
[Illustration:
FIRST CHURCH IN CHIENGMAI]
[Illustration:
DR. McGILVARY’S HOME IN CHIENGMAI]
But till the original order was revoked, strict obedience was enjoined
upon the Christians.
The Annual Meeting was held in Lakawn early in December. Just before it
convened, Dr. and Mrs. W. A. Briggs and Rev. Robert Irwin arrived,
together with Dr. and Mrs. Peoples, returning from furlough. For the
present these were stationed at Lakawn. At the same time Rev. and Mrs.
Stanley K. Phraner were nearing Chiengmai on the Mê Ping fork. But our
song of joy over their arrival was destined soon again to have a sad
refrain. The two young brides had scarcely reached their husbands’ field
of labour—which they thought was to be theirs also—when they were both
called to a higher sphere.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXIX
LENGTHENING THE CORDS AND STRENGTHENING THE STAKES
While in the United States, Dr. Peoples had succeeded in procuring a
font of Lāo type, with the necessary equipment for printing. For
twenty-three years we had used only the Siamese Scriptures and
literature. With many present disadvantages, it had some compensations.
Those who could read Siamese had access to the whole of the Old and New
Testaments. The press was set up in Chiengmai, and Rev. D. G. Collins
was made manager. The first printing done was Mrs. McGilvary’s
translation of the Gospel of Matthew.
My daughter had been sent down to aid the Phraners on their river trip.
Word was sent ahead that Mrs. Phraner was not well. As they drew nearer,
her condition became so critical that Dr. McKean hastened with all speed
to meet them. When she reached Chiengmai, her condition, while still
critical, was more hopeful. I was ready to start on my tour as soon as
the party arrived. When I left home, we were still hopeful that rest,
kind nursing, and medical treatment would set her right again.
During my absence this year I was fortunate enough to receive a regular
weekly mail from Chiengmai. A staff of engineers were surveying a
railroad route for the Siamese government, and had a weekly mail sent to
their stations along the line. They were very kind to include my letters
also, which was particularly fortunate in that thus I could have news of
the invalid left behind.
I have learned to start on my tours with very flexible plans, leaving
much to the guidance of providential openings on the way. On this trip,
at the village of Pāng Krai—which, because it was a mile or two away
from the road, I had not visited in seventeen years—I was delayed three
days by a reception so cordial that I could not pass on. On my previous
trip a man from the village, Noi Tēchō by name, came with his little
girl across to our camp and begged us to visit it. This I could not then
do; but he remained with us till late at night, and seemed to be a
believer. I now found that in the interval the man had kept the Sabbath,
and had given such other evidence of his sincerity, that we could not
refuse his reception to the communion and fellowship of the church. On
the last night of our stay we had a baptismal and communion service that
was memorable. The man made a good confession before many witnesses, and
his little daughter was baptized as a non-communing member.
As in many other cases, this family had been driven by trouble to our
religion. Originally he was the slave of a prince in Lakawn. The
accusation of witchcraft then settled on the family; but before they
were driven off the Prince compelled them to borrow money in order to
redeem themselves from him—to do which the man had to give two of his
children as security. After a move or two, he was driven by famine from
Lakawn, and came to this village.
One morning at Wieng Pā Pāo I was summoned in great haste to attend one
of the engineers who was thought to have been nearly killed by a fall
from a runaway horse. I found that he had broken a collar-bone, but was
otherwise uninjured. I applied all of my amateur surgical skill, and set
the bone. But my patient, naturally enough, could not feel quite sure;
and thought it safer to go down to our hospital and get Dr. McKean’s
judgment on the case. He found the bone set all right.
Late one Saturday evening I reached Bān Pā Hōng in Chieng Rāi province,
and stopped with the first Christian family. Next day I learned that in
the next section of the village there was a Christian girl very low with
consumption. Early on Monday morning I moved on, but was only in time to
see a lovely form and face apparently in the most natural sleep; but the
living soul had departed. I had baptized her two years before, when she
was fourteen years of age. She had been sick for seven months, and had
spent most of the time in prayer. It made me inexpressibly sad when I
learned that her strongest desire was to see her own “Paw Krū” before
she departed. On the previous evening, when she heard that we had
reached the village near by, she said, “And the Paw Krū is at Noi Lin’s,
and I cannot see him!” I preached her funeral sermon, and saw her
decently buried.
* * * * *
The next Sunday morning, while sitting in the Mê Kawn chapel and
preparing for service, I looked up and saw standing on the ground before
the door some people in a strange costume evidently not Lāo, looking in
as if in doubt whether to enter or not. I immediately recognized them as
belonging to the Mūsô tribe, quite numerous in the mountains near by.
Their ready acceptance of my invitation to come in showed that they were
waiting to be asked, and feared only lest they might be intruders. As
the Mūsôs will be prominent in our narrative of this and the two
following years, a word of introduction may be desirable.
They are one of a numerous group of hill-tribes which have gradually
followed the mountain ridges down from the interior of the continent.
They live under a patriarchal government, if it may be rightly called a
government at all; and they enjoy great personal freedom, though the
authority of the clan approaches very near to absolute despotism. They
are worshippers of spirits, which are held to preside over the universe
and the destinies of men generally; while as a tribe they are under the
guardianship of their own “spirits.” They have a twelfth—day sabbath or
sacred day, not very definitely marked. They make a great deal of their
“kin waw” or New Year feast, when all communication with other villages
even of their own tribe is cut off during the five or seven days of
their feasting. The religious head of the village is called Pū Chān, and
the head Pū Chān of a province holds in his hands the conscience of all
his flock.
Their manner of life is as follows: They select a locality, the higher
up the better, near the source of a mountain brook. They fell the trees
and undergrowth at the close of the rainy season, let them dry during
the hot season, and just before the next rainy season set fire to the
clearing on a windy day. All that is readily combustible is consumed,
leaving the logs on the ground. With a small hoe or a narrow spade they
make shallow openings in the earth some ten inches apart, all over the
field, and deposit in each a dozen rice grains, more or less. The rains
do the rest till the harvest. The second year’s crop is the best, but it
is seldom that they can compete with the scrub-growth for a third crop.
A temporary shack is easily erected, if possible, contiguous to three
clearings. When these are abandoned, they move on and repeat the
operation elsewhere. By this means all the higher mountains are being
steadily denuded of their forests.
Being bound by no system of hoary age and venerable associations, like
Buddhism or Brahmanism, most of the hill-tribes are very receptive of
the Gospel. Their clannishness, however, is such that if they become
Christians at all, they come in a body. But it is very difficult for
individuals or families to break away from the clan. At the same time
their migratory and unsettled habits are by no means favourable to their
education and civilization. To any other power than that of the Gospel
that would seem to be a hopeless task.
But to return to our visitors at the chapel. There were seven men and
boys in the party. The spokesman, Cha Pū Kaw, was tall and well
proportioned, with the bearing of one who might be a leader of some
position. He understood Lāo better than most of his tribe, and through
him it was by no means difficult to draw the others into conversation.
They were from three families that had been driven down nearer the plain
by accusation of witchcraft. They had learned from our elder that
Christians were not afraid of witchcraft, nor of expulsion from the
country. They had also talked over with him the plan of salvation for
sinful men provided in the Gospel, and had asked to be informed whenever
we should come again. They readily consented to remain through the
morning service, which was modified to suit the needs of the new
audience. It was the first Christian worship they had ever attended, and
they were evidently pleased. The Christians invited them to share their
dinner, and the most of the afternoon was given up to their instruction.
The boys were put to reading the catechism and learning to sing the Lāo
version of “There is a Happy Land.” They remained with us till there was
only light enough left to enable them to find their way home.
Early next morning we crossed the plain to the foot of the mountain,
where we struck the little brook along which and in which lay our
pathway. The climb was a stiff one, but with noble outlooks over the
plain below. In their little hamlet there were three families, or,
rather, three divisions of one family, numbering twenty-six souls. By
their intercourse with the Christians at the chapel the soil had been
prepared for the seed. So from nine o’clock till noon we addressed
ourselves to teaching the elders, while the children were becoming more
and more interested in the catechism, and especially in the “Happy
Land.”
While the men and boys were thus engaged, the grandmother and her
daughters were busy preparing dinner. When all was ready, the steaming
white rice was emptied on a board like that on which our housewives
knead their bread. With it was a vegetable curry, sweet potatoes steamed
over the rice, bananas, and other fruits, with native sugar in cakes for
dessert. The board piled with food was set before me, and I was invited
to partake. They were delighted that I could eat and enjoy it.
After all had finished their meal, the exercises of the morning were
resumed, with the women now disengaged and free to listen. Long before
night Cha Pū Kaw and his brother-in-law, Cha Waw, of about the same age,
expressed their firm belief in the truth of our religion, and their
acceptance of the Gospel offer as far as they understood it. The women
said they would follow their husbands. The sun was already getting low
when we had worship together before leaving. When we came to bid our
hosts good-bye, we found that we were to be escorted down by the two
elder men and the boys, lest a tiger might meet us on the way. It was
almost dark when we reached the chapel.—A day never to be forgotten!
At the chapel I found letters from Chiengmai bringing the news that Mrs.
Phraner’s long and painful sufferings were ended. She died on February
13th. All that three able physicians could do was done; but in vain. Her
mother and her family were never willing that she should become a
missionary, being sure that she could not endure the strain of a
missionary’s life. That fact filled the husband’s cup of sorrow to
overflowing. My letter stated that he was beside himself with grief;
that the physicians, and, in fact, the whole mission, strongly advised
him to join me on my tour; and that he would reach me not long after the
letter.
On the following Friday, while getting the new chapel ready, I heard the
shout, “There comes the new teacher!” He was worn and haggard, and
visibly older than when I left him; but making a brave effort to be
cheerful. He said very little of his great loss.
[Illustration:
MAP OF NORTHERN SIAM, SHOWING MISSION STATIONS, UNDERLINED.]
On Sunday the whole Mūsô village was on hand long before the hour for
worship. The women came with their babes tied with a scarf to the
mother’s back, according to their custom. The news that they were become
Christians had spread, and drew a larger number than usual of our
non-Christian neighbours to the services. The Christians, too, were
greatly encouraged thereby. In the afternoon a few of the tribe from
another village were present, and listened with surprise to Cha Pū Kaw’s
first sermon. He had evidently entered upon his new faith in earnest,
and was not ashamed to bear his testimony.
On Monday we moved on to Chieng Rāi, where I was to direct the removal
of a house to the lot which the Governor had offered us. But Mr.
Phraner’s condition demanded movement and change of scene. Arrangements
were, therefore, made to have the house moved by others, while we went
on at once to Chieng Sên. There we found the Chao Uparāt just returned
from a trip via Mûang Len to Mûang Sing, some hundred miles or so to the
northeast on the other side of the Mê Kōng River. He was profuse in his
praise both of Mûang Sing and of the journey thither; and suggested that
it would be a fine opening for a mission, and a most interesting tour.
The suggestion seemed attractive to us both. So, after a week of work in
the church and in the city of Chieng Sên, we started for Mûang Len and
Mûang Sing.
Mûang Len is the common market centre of a large number of hill-tribes
that inhabit the mountain ridges in all directions round about. All the
cities and towns north of Chieng Sên hold a fifth-day fair or market. We
were fortunate in striking market-day on the Saturday of our arrival.
Early in the morning people began to pour into the place from all
directions. The mountain tribes came out, their beaux and belles all in
gala dress, some to buy and sell, and others because it was their weekly
holiday.
From Chieng Sên I had brought along Nān Suwan, the Lû elder, who had
come into closer contact with these mountain tribes than had our elders
from the south. He could make the men, and especially the head men,
understand fairly well. To all who understood the Lāo I could, of
course, speak directly. We took our stand at the end of the market, and
the crowd gathered about us. None of them had ever seen a missionary.
None, save some few of the Lāo men, had ever read a book, or knew even a
letter of any written language. They were children of nature, artless
and unsophisticated. We pressed home the thought, new to them, that
there must be a maker of the world and of all creatures in it. We told
them the old, old story of the infinite love of God, our Father, and of
Christ, His Son, who suffered and died to save us, and of pardon freely
promised to all who believe in Him. This is the final argument that wins
these people.
After the merely curious among the crowd had withdrawn, this doctrine of
salvation from sin held the more thoughtful, and brought them to our
tent in the afternoon, and even far on into the night. The head men
especially, who were more free to come to me, expressed a deep personal
interest in the new doctrine. The most interested and interesting man
was Sên Ratana, the governor of the Kôn quarter of the city. We met him
on Sunday. On Monday we called on him and spent most of the morning at
his house, explaining to him the plan of salvation and dictating to him
portions of Scripture for him to copy; for by this time the Lāo
manuscript copies which we brought with us were exhausted. He copied,
also, the first few questions and answers of the Shorter Catechism,
hoping that with these as a key, he could learn to read the Siamese
Gospel and catechism which I gave him.
On our return to our tent on Monday evening we found almost a panic
among our people. Some lawless men had lounged about the tent most of
the day, asking suspicious questions about how much money we carried,
and how many guns, and whither we were going from there, etc., etc. The
result was that those who had been most eager for the trip beyond the Mê
Kōng to Mûang Sing, began now to beg us to return. Mr. Phraner,
moreover, became uneasy about his borrowed elephant, which would be a
great prize for robbers. So, after consultation, it was decided to
retrace our steps. However disappointing this might be to me, I had at
least learned the road to Mûang Sing and Mûang Yawng. The tour to both
those places, and to many others, was only deferred to the following
year, when we might hope to have at least one printed Gospel in the Lāo
language, and a tract or two to distribute. The news of Cha Pū Kaw’s
conversion spread far and wide, and was preparing the way for further
work among his tribe.
Leaving Mûang Len on Wednesday, we breathed more freely after we had
crossed the border into Siam. On reaching Chieng Sên, Mr. Phraner
decided to return to Chiengmai. He had reaped all the benefit possible
from change of scene. He felt that he ought now to be in his future
home, settling down to a systematic study of the language. But I greatly
missed his pleasant company.
The object of the missionary’s visit to an outlying church like that of
Chieng Sên, is to “lengthen the cords and strengthen the stakes”—to
awaken the careless, to attract the indifferent, and to deepen
impressions already made. Within the range of influence of such a church
there are always those who, though taught, indeed, by its native
officers, still need further instruction by the missionary—who have
objections to be met and doubts to be resolved beyond the power of these
officers to cope with. Not infrequently some one who is already a
believer has a wife, a husband, or children on whom his own final
decision depends. These must be visited in their homes. Their confidence
must be won and their friendship gained as a preliminary to awakening
their interest in our religion.
For the sake of the Christians personally, as well as for the work in
general, it is important to cultivate the friendship of the local
rulers. It is to them that the Christians are responsible. And then the
Christian families must be visited, their children instructed, their
difficulties settled, their sick be treated, and instructed how to treat
themselves in our absence; and as much Scriptural teaching is to be
given as our time by night and by day will permit. But our most
important duty is to instruct the elders themselves, and give them an
uplift.
When my work in Chieng Sên was done, I started for Chieng Kawng, taking
Nān Suwan along, for he was well known there and in most of the region
to be visited as far as Chieng Rāi. The Mê Tam, already referred to as
the stream which rises from under the mountain west of the plain,
becomes quite a river as it enters the Mê Kōng near Chieng Sên. The
bottom land is covered with reedy grass so tall that a large elephant
carrying a high howdah can be seen only a short distance away. Here we
lost our way completely, and wandered about bewildered for a long time.