failed in a number of attempts to get down to the water. At last we dug
down as best we could the edge of the high sandy bank, and, after much
urging, and some protest on his part, my sadaw tremblingly reached forth
his front feet, lay down, and slid like an alligator, dragging his hind
legs after him, till, with a mighty plunge, we landed in deep water. It
was an awful sensation for the rider. The place was in a bayou with
“back water” so deep as to be quite over one’s head; and, unlike the
natives, the rider could not swim! The landing on the further shore was
little better. There the elephant struggled up the bank until he got his
forefeet on the edge above. Then, with a gigantic effort, he drew
himself up so suddenly that the rider had to hold on for dear life to
avoid being thrown over his head. It was a feat that only an elephant
could perform, and one would much prefer witnessing it from a distance
to being on his back during the operation.
At Chieng Kawng I was sorry to find the governor sadly crippled. In
descending a flight of steps he had slipped to the ground, dislocating
his ankle and bruising the bone. The joint had been barbarously treated,
was fearfully swollen, and caries of the bone had evidently set in. I
urged him to take an elephant and go to our hospital, as the only
possible chance of cure. He was favourably inclined to the idea, and
promised to do so after trying somewhat longer the incantations of a
noted sorceress, who was believed to have great power over wounds. It
almost passes belief that such an intelligent man could have any faith
in it. Yet reason and ridicule alike failed to dispel the hope that she
might succeed. The result might have been predicted. After giving him
great suffering, the treatment cost him his life.
While I was in Chieng Kawng, a Nān prince returning from Mûang Sing
brought the news that negotiations then on foot between France and Siam
would put a stop to all further settlement of that district; would, in
fact, transfer the whole region east of the Mê Kōng to France. The
Prince of Nān was greatly disappointed; but little did we think that the
transfer would ultimately prove an effectual barrier to our work also.
It is surely one of the anomalies and anachronisms of the twentieth
century that a Christian nation of Europe should oppose the introduction
of Christianity into a region over which it has absolute control!
On the last night before we left, all the princes and officers came to
see us, and remained till midnight. They were as loath to have us leave
them as we were to go.
The journey from Chieng Kawng was intensely hot; the thermometer
standing at 103° in my howdah by day, and on one night in my tent at
96°. On the banks of the Mê Ing I found native white roses in bloom in
abundance, and brought home with me a plant which Mrs. McGilvary greatly
prized, for this was the only native rose I had found in the Lāo
territory.
On the way to Mûang Tông I passed the camp of Chao Wieng Sā, a Nān
prince whom I had met in his home on two former visits. He was
overseeing the felling and running of teak timber down the Mê Ing and
the Mê Kōng to Lūang Prabāng. He had received and read a Siamese New
Testament, was quite familiar with the life and teachings of Jesus, and
admired His character. A lawsuit afterwards brought him to Chiengmai,
where I saw a great deal of him. He was surely a believer at heart. To
me he was willing to confess that his only hope was in Jesus Christ, but
was not ready to make a public profession of his faith. I love to think
of many such whom I have met as like the Gamaliels, the Nicodemuses, and
the Josephs of Christ’s day.
[Illustration:
MRS. McGILVARY
1893]
At Mûang Tông, as soon as I dismounted from my elephant an officer met
me to enquire who I was, and to escort me to the public sālā. I soon
learned that he was the brother of another officer whom I had found on
the road to Chieng Rāi the year before, unable to travel and,
apparently, sick unto death with fever. His company could not linger
indefinitely in the forest, and so had left him there with two men to
watch him, and probably to see him die. A dose of calomel, and the
quinine which I left with instructions as to its use, seem to have cured
his fever and enabled him to reach his home in safety. He was himself
now absent, but his brother’s heart had been opened to friendship, and
he did all that he could for my comfort. At night he invited his friends
to the sālā to meet me, and we had an interesting evening. In all these
places Nān Suwan and Noi Siri would often be heard talking to the
audience after I had retired, and until sleep closed my eyes.
During our absence from Chieng Rāi a case of oppression, or, at least,
of evident injustice, on the part of the Court, had led our friend the
governor to take all Christians under his personal protection as his own
dependents. The kindness was well meant, and we thanked him for it. But
I doubted its wisdom. The only scheme under which Christianity can
really establish itself in all lands, is to have Christians stand on
precisely the same level before the law as Buddhists or Brahmans or the
followers of any other religion.
From Chieng Rāi the elders were sent on to Cha Pū Kaw’s village to see
how the Mūsôs were getting on. I followed them in a day or two. When I
reached the chapel at Mê Kawn, the elders had returned from the Mūsô
village with a glowing account of their constancy. This the testimony of
Noi Tāliya and of all the Lāo Christians confirmed. They had not missed
a single Sunday service; old and young alike came, and mothers, as
before, bringing their children tied on their backs. They had shamed the
Lāo Christians by their earnestness, getting to the chapel first,
studying hard, and returning home late.
On Saturday morning the whole village came down, and we spent the day
together. They remained that night as the guests of the Lāo. The next
day, Sunday, was largely given up to their instruction. They all had
renounced the worship of spirits; they all accepted Jesus as their
Saviour; they were all diligently learning to read and to sing. Their
conduct was most consistent; they had a good reflex influence upon the
church; and their conversion was an astonishment to the non-Christian
community.
These Mūsôs had all come, expecting to join the church. They had been
taught that public baptism—confessing Christ before men—was the
consummating act, the external seal of their initiation into the
privileges of the church. Although we impressed upon them that they were
not saved by the mere ceremony of baptism, yet somehow they felt that
without it they were not quite in the church, and hence probably not
quite safe from the spirits. Since it would be nearly a year before they
would have another opportunity, it seemed unwise not to receive some of
them at this time. The greatest doubt was about Cha Waw. Yet he felt
that more than any other he needed whatever protection and assistance
the church could afford him. He had begun with his whole strength to
break the chains of his opium habit, to seek pardon and be saved. He
felt confident that with God’s help he would succeed.
The final decision was that, in order to bind them to the service of
Christ, they were all to appear before the session and make their
profession; but that only the two old men should be received into full
communion, and that one grandson from each family be baptized as
non-communing members. It was thought best to let the others wait till
our next visit; though I have never been satisfied that they should not
all have been admitted that day. Three of these Mūsô boys accompanied me
to Chiengmai on my return, and entered the Boys’ School. It is not at
all surprising that, in surroundings so different from those of their
mountain homes, they presently grew lonesome and homesick. But they were
satisfactory pupils, and remained in school long enough to get a good
start in reading and singing.
Cha Waw, after a manful struggle, finally succeeded in breaking away
entirely from his opium—by the help of prayer and of quinine, as he
always believed and affirmed. When the non-Christian tribesmen with
their opium pipes visited his village, he was accustomed to go down to
the elders at Mê Kawn, to be away from temptation, and under Christian
influence. He lived a number of years after this to attest the reality
of his victory—the only case I have ever known where the victory was
surely won.
That year there was a famine among all the hill tribes. The upland rice
was almost entirely cut off by a plague of rats. I do not believe in
“rice Christians”; but when people are famishing with hunger, I believe
in feeding them, whether they are Christians or not. These did not ask
either for money or for any other aid. But when I left them, I made
arrangement with the Lāo elders to furnish them with sixty buckets of
rice, for which I paid ten rupees in advance. They were very grateful
for the aid.
The days spent among the Mūsôs that week were inspiring. Glowing visions
arose before us of a new tribe brought into the Christian church, of
which these were the first-fruits. On this whole tour, indeed, only nine
adults and seventeen children were baptized. But in addition to the
opening of work among the Mūsôs, we had for the first time preached the
Gospel beyond the borders of the kingdom of Siam; and our longing eyes
were turned toward the Sipsawng Pannā, and beyond the great river. By
this time the rains had already begun to fall. A new season was needed
to fulfil our desires.
Much as I always enjoy my long tours, when my work is done and my face
at last is turned homewards, the gait of my sadaw seems distressingly
slow. On reaching Chiengmai I found all in fair health, and all
departments of work in full operation. But while I was still on my way,
word reached me of the death of Mrs. Briggs in Lakawn, only a month and
nine days after that of Mrs. Phraner. So unexpected was it that I was
not even aware that she had been ill. In answer to my request for a few
particulars from Dr. Briggs, I have received the following, which I know
he will excuse me for transferring to these pages:
“MRS. ALICE HAMILTON BRIGGS was from Truro, Nova Scotia.
Although within a year of graduation, she gave up her medical
course and accompanied her husband to the Lāo mission in answer
to the call of the Board. When she bade good-bye to the
Secretaries of the Board, Dr. Gillespie said to her, ‘It is a
pleasure to see you so robust and strong. In this respect you
are better off than your husband. There have been so many
missionary women who have broken down on the field, that we are
glad to see that you have a reserve of health.’
“Before leaving American shores, however, Mrs. Briggs contracted
a slight cough which developed in severity during the voyage. On
her arrival in Siam it became apparent that the case was one of
pulmonary tuberculosis. The disease seemed to respond to
treatment, and for months improvement was marked. Up to within
twenty-four hours of death Mrs. Briggs was so hopeful of a
return to health that she refused to allow her family at home to
know of her condition. On Saturday she was cutting out a new
dress for herself. On Sunday night she passed away. Dr. Briggs
was spending the evening with her, when a call came to attend a
child said to be dying just across the road. The doctor said he
would be back soon. A few minutes later he was called back too
late even to hear a last word of farewell.”
The event most interesting to us as a family during the fall of this
year, 1891, was the arrival of our son Evander with his young bride, and
our daughter Margaret, to carry on the work begun by their parents. Our
son had made special preparation for translating the Scriptures into the
Lāo language, then the most pressing need of the mission.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXX
AMONG THE MŪSÔ VILLAGES—FAMINE
For the tour of 1892 I was to have the company of Dr. McKean as long as
he could be spared from Chiengmai, which would greatly enhance the value
of the trip. We had also three native evangelist-assistants, and, last,
but not least, we were well supplied with Scriptures and tracts in the
Lāo dialect. Our start was made on January 5th.
Our first two Sundays and the intervening week we spent in Wieng Pā Pāo,
where we established ourselves in the new chapel which the people
themselves had built since our last tour. We observed the Week of Prayer
with two chapel services daily, and house-to-house and heart-to-heart
work in the intervals. The church was formally organized with thirty-six
adult members and thirty children, three ruling elders, and two deacons.
From Wieng Pā Pāo we moved on to the village of Mê Kawn, the centre of
our very interesting work of the previous year among the Mūsô tribe. The
Sunday we spent there was a red-letter day in our missionary life. Of it
Dr. McKean writes: “This has been a blessed day. All [of the Mūsôs]
desire baptism. Two boys baptized last year were admitted to the
communion. Eleven other adults and seven children were baptized, making
twenty-two Mūsôs now members of the visible church. One Lāo girl was
received on confession, and three Lāo children were baptized. Our
Christian Mūsôs were out in full force. A Mūsô officer and others not
Christians attended from another village. Before this we had visited
these people in their homes. We found that they had built a good chapel
for their worship, a better building than either of their own houses.
They had been very diligent in observing the Sabbath, in studying the
catechism, and in worship.”
We could not have been better pleased with our first success. The
exclusion of this little group from the large villages made it possible
and easy for all of them to become Christians. The whole-hearted zeal
with which they entered the church awakened strong hopes for the
conversion of their race. Cha Pū Kaw’s knowledge of the Lāo tongue was
above the average even of their head men. It would be a long time before
we could have another such interpreter and assistant. And he was nearly,
or quite, seventy years old; so that whatever he was to do in teaching
his people must be done soon. It was, therefore, thought best to make a
strong effort through him and his family during that season.
At our next stopping-place, Nāng Lê, we came near having a serious
casualty. Our boys were out on a deer hunt, and one of them bethought
him of a novel expedient for getting the game. He climbed a tree, and
had the grass fired on the other side of the open space. The grass was
tall and dry, and the wind blew strong towards him. He became so
engrossed in looking for the deer that he forgot the fire, till it was
too late to flee. He could climb beyond the actual flames; but meanwhile
the whole air had become like the breath of a furnace. When, at last,
the fire had swept past him, and he was able to descend, he was a mass
of blisters. The swiftness of the rush of the fire alone saved his life.
Had it been slower, he could not have escaped suffocation.
From Nāng Lê we visited a very large Mūsô village. It was a steep
foot-climb of four solid hours, and, to make it longer, our guide missed
the way. The first sign of human life we saw was a Mūsô girl alone
watching a clearing. She fled for dear life, till, recognizing Cha Pū
Kaw’s Mūsô speech, she stopped long enough to point the way to the
village. Her fleet steps outran ours, and when we reached the village,
the people were already assembling to see the unwonted sight of the
white foreigners. But the community was greatly disturbed over another
matter. One of their leading officers, it seemed, was accused of being
the abode of a demon that had caused an epidemic of disease. The
authorities were hourly waiting for an order from the court in Chieng
Rāi to expel him and his family by force from the province. They had
heard of Cha Pū Kaw’s conversion, and were anxious to hear from himself
his reasons therefor—which he gave and enforced till late in the night.
They were expecting, however, on the morrow a regular conflict which
might result in bloodshed, and they evidently preferred that we should
not be there. The head Pū Chān was several days’ journey distant. They
would confer together among themselves and with him, would let us know
the result, and would invite us up again before we left their
neighbourhood.
About midnight a fierce storm of wind and rain broke upon us to our
great discomfort. Our thin tent afforded but poor protection. We doubled
up our bedding over our clothes, and sat upon the pile under our
umbrellas, and laughed at the novelty of our situation and the poor
prospect of a night’s sleep. But later the storm passed off, and we did
get a little sleep. Our visit to that group of Mūsô villages was
evidently not well timed. We took the advice of their officers, and
returned to Nāng Lê.
Two days later we reached Chieng Sên. Here we received a mail from home,
with news that Mrs. McKean was not well, and other members of the
station needed the doctor’s presence. It was expressed as “the unanimous
judgment of the station that he should return immediately.” We had
planned a regular campaign in the Mūsô districts on both sides of the Mê
Kōng—the sort of trip in which the medical missionary finds his best
opportunity. But the recall was so imperative that it could not be
ignored. So I was left to continue the work alone.
The Mūsô tribe was about equally numerous in the mountain ranges on both
sides of the big river. On the east side there were eleven villages. It
seemed advisable to take that section first, because they were under
Chieng Sên rulers, of whose cordial and sincere interest in our work we
were sure. Sên Chai, the head man of the large village nearest to the
city, was a friend of Nān Suwan, and was strongly inclined to embrace
our religion; but felt the difficulty of breaking the tribal bond.
Before this I had made him a visit of two or three days, and saw clearly
that our only chance of accomplishing anything was to gain all the head
men of the eleven villages. It was actually easier to win over the whole
as a unit than to win it piecemeal. This was a formidable task to
undertake, but with God’s blessing on the labours of Cha Pū Kaw and Nān
Suwan, it seemed not impossible.
We set out for the first village one morning shortly after ten o’clock.
It was four o’clock when we stopped for rest at the first cluster of
houses on the outskirts of the settlement. The news of our arrival soon
reached the main village. When we started again we met Sên Chai with a
regular serenade-party of men and boys with native reed instruments,
blowing their plaintive dirge-like music, to welcome us and escort us
in. Soon the population was all assembled—the maidens in their best
sarongs, the mothers and grandmothers each with an urchin strapped to
her back by her scarf, the men coming in from their work, and the
inevitable crowd of children. Cha Pū Kaw was already answering their
questions, with Nān Suwan’s sympathetic aid. They were respectfully shy,
but there was no cringing. Sên Chai invited the local Pū Chān and all
the villagers to assemble after their evening meal to hear the new
doctrines. We first had worship with singing, and prayer by Cha Pū Kaw.
It was the first time they had heard the Great Spirit addressed in their
own Mūsô tongue. There were frequent exclamations of delight that they
were able to understand every word.
And then, before that motley crowd, drinking with them their native tea
from an earthen teapot, the men seated close around, or reclining as
they smoke their pipes, the women and children walking about or sitting
on the ground—we tell of God the great Spirit, the Creator, and Father
of all—the Bible, His message to men—the incarnation, life, and death of
Christ, and redemption through His blood. Before we get through you will
hear man after man say, “I believe that. It is true.” One man takes up
the story from Cha Pū Kaw’s mouth and repeats it to another—a story that
till now he himself had never heard. Another says, “Nān Suwan has told
us this before, but now we hear it from the father-teacher.”
Before we retired that night Sên Chai said to us, with the approval of
most of his village, “Go on to Sên Bun Yūang and the head men of the
other villages. If they agree, we will all accept Christianity. One
village cannot accept it alone. If we do not ‘kin waw’ with them—join in
their New Year’s feast—we shall be treated as enemies by the whole
tribe.”
So, next morning, we set out to find the great Pū Chān—the religious
head of the province. On our way to his village we fell in with a man to
whom Cha Pū Kaw was speaking with great earnestness. I found on
approaching him that he was not a Mūsô, but a Kūi—of a tribe which we
had planned to visit later. He was the Pū Chān of his village. He had
already invited us through Cha Pū Kaw to change our plan, and visit his
village first. It was nearer than the village we were intending to
visit, and we were already tired enough with our climb to be willing to
stop at the nearest place.
The village was a large one, as mountain villages go—of twenty-five or
thirty houses, and from two hundred and fifty to three hundred souls—in
general not unlike the Mūsô villages we had seen. The Kūi language also,
while different from the Mūsô, is cognate with it, so that Cha Pū Kaw
could still act fairly well as our interpreter. His talk with the Pū
Chān on the way had already laid a good foundation for our work in the
evening, when curiosity and interest in our errand brought the whole
village together to hear Cha Pū Kaw’s new doctrine from his own lips.
The news of his conversion had already reached them, and he had made a
good impression on the religious head of the village.—And, then, it was
something new to see the Mūsô boys able to read and to sing. Nān Suwan
and Cha Pū Kaw led in prayer, the one in Lāo and the other in Mūsô. Then
our religion was explained in its two leading ideas—rejection of the
spirit-cult, and acceptance of Jesus for the pardon of sin and the life
eternal. Questions were asked and answered.
At last the Pū Chān suggested that, while we continued our reading and
singing with the women and children, he and the men, with Cha Pū Kaw,
withdraw to a neighbouring house and talk the matter over. It was
evident that they would be more at their ease by themselves, unawed by
the presence of the foreign teacher. For some two hours the debate
continued. I could hear their earnest voices from the neighbouring
house, with only now and then a Lāo word that I could understand. Then
they returned to make their report. With oriental politeness, they
expressed their gratitude to the “great teacher” who had come so far and
at such expense, and had brought with him a fellow-mountaineer of
theirs, to teach them, creatures of the jungle, the way to happiness.
They had talked these matters over, and understood them somewhat, but
not fully. Some were greatly pleased with the teachings, and believed
them true. But they could not yet come as an entire village, and they
dared not separate. Next morning we parted as friends. They were glad
that we had found the way to their village. “Be sure to come again!”
That I thought surely I should do; but this proved to be my only visit.
At the Sên Lūang’s village, where the great Pū Chān lived, we had the
same experience—a good reception, many apparently interested and anxious
to escape their own spirit-worship. A number of the head men said, “If
such and such a village accepts the Jesus-religion, we will.” But no one
could be found to face the clan and make a start.
Thinking that our native evangelists might get at the heart of the
people all the better if left to do it alone, and being anxious to get
my mail from home, I went down on Saturday to Nān Suwan’s to spend the
Sunday there with the Christians. On Tuesday, to my disappointment, the
evangelists returned to me discouraged. They were convinced that in the
district east of the Mê Kōng River, no break in the solidarity of the
clan could be accomplished that season.