informally and spend the evening with him at his beautiful cottage and
garden two miles out in the country. On meeting us, our host said, “The
other night I was the Commandant Supérieur. To-night I am simply M.
Vackle. I want to have a pleasant informal evening with you.” And surely
we did. We talked of the old friendship between France and the United
States, of Washington and La Fayette, the Chicago Exposition, the
Parliament of Religions, and of M. Vackle’s own work in the new
province. He was interested in the Parliament of Religions, and asked if
Roman Catholics were equally welcome with Protestants. He had an
exaggerated idea of the number of our religious sects. We told him that
the great body of Protestants were included in five or six groups
somewhat like the orders of the Catholic church, but there were numerous
smaller subdivisions. He had heard of one that lived wholly on milk. Of
this we had to confess ignorance, unless it were that large group that
we call infants.
It was after eleven when we rose to take our leave; and even then he
detained us to see by torchlight his beautiful garden, artificially
watered, and his bowling alley—insisting that we try a turn on it. This
was what I had never done before, but at the first bowl I brought down
several pins. This pleased him, and he said that he had never seen a
better first play.
On taking our final leave, we spoke a last word for permanent mission
work, reminding him that while Catholicism and Protestantism had alike
produced great nations, Buddhism never had; and that it was therefore
political wisdom to encourage and foster the Christian religion in the
provinces. He assented, but said he feared that the “King” might imagine
that his subjects would be less loyal if they became Christians. We
assured him that the reverse would be true, since it was a fundamental
point in our teaching as well as in the Scriptures, that Christians were
to be obedient to their rulers.
Among the routes offered we chose the northern one as most nearly
meeting Mr. Arthington’s desires. Our passport stated that we were Bāt
Lūangs, i.e., Catholic priests. We left Lūang Prabāng on Monday, March
8th, crossed the Nam Ū near its mouth, and spent three weeks on our way
to Mûang Sai. At one point there was a theft of a considerable amount of
our money, which delayed us a day or two, but annoyed us more. The
thieves turned out to be some of our own men, who afterwards confessed,
and eventually we recovered the money. From Mûang Sai there is a good
route to Nān, and as no man had been left in that station along with the
ladies, Dr. Peoples felt that he must return to it, while I should go on
northward to the Sipsawng Pannā and finally return to Chiengmai along
the route which I took with Mr. Irwin in 1893. His departure was a great
loss to me personally, and to the effectiveness of the tour. He left us
on March 31st.
The next week was one of intense interest to me. One of its days was the
thirtieth anniversary of my arrival in Chiengmai, and fraught with
memories of the hopes, achievements, and disappointments of all those
years. And were we now, perhaps, on the eve of a new opening with wider
possibilities than ever? So it seemed. For, one day as I was in the
monastery at Mûang Sai, there entered an officer, Sên Suriya by name,
who, making the obeisance usually made to priests, explained that,
having been absent from home, he had not heard the instruction we had
given at our evening worship. His wife, however, had reported that a
teacher from a great and distant country was come with Scriptures and an
offer of salvation from the great God of all. It was the great desire of
his heart to be saved from his sins. His interest was evidently intense,
and that roused our interest in him. From three o’clock till nightfall
our elders and I explained to him the great truths of revelation, while
he listened almost with rapture.
In the midst of this earnest conference the “āchān,” or chief officer of
the monastery, came in; and Sên Suriya joined us in explaining to this
friend the strange news he had heard. The āchān was soon as deeply
interested as he. He also desired to know further of this matter. Before
we parted that evening, Sên Suriya had accepted the teaching joyfully;
and his friend, with more reservation.
Soon others had joined these two—notably a family of refugees from
persecution for witchcraft. They were ready to accept anything which
would deliver them from bondage to the spirits. On Sunday at the public
service the instruction was directed to the needs of these enquirers,
all of whom were present. The cost was to be counted; the cross was to
be taken up; but the reward was great. Sên Suriya’s wife and family all
opposed him. He had spent an anxious night, and was under great strain;
but was still firm. He was ready at any cost.
His friend the āchān had received his appointment in the monastery from
the Pīa, or head-officer. For honesty’s sake he felt he must notify the
Pīa and resign his position. It was, therefore, arranged that our elders
and I should go with the two friends on that errand that very afternoon.
We went, and were kindly received. Sên Suriya, as spokesman, witnessed a
good confession. They had been men, he said, who all their lives had
sought merit and followed the teachings of the Buddha, but with great
anxiety, on account of their failures. Now they had learned of the great
refuge of the God who could pardon and save both in this and in the
coming world. Their motive was strictly religious. They would be as
loyal as ever, and would perform faithfully their government duties. The
āchān said that his friend had fully expressed his views, but he wished
further to resign his position in the monastery. The Pīa listened with
evident interest, but with some surprise. When he spoke, he said: “All
that I know of religion I have learned from these two men. They know
manifold more than I do. If they see it right, how can I oppose? I will
still take them as my religious teachers, and will learn Christianity of
them.”
I added a word, emphasizing their assurance that being good Christians
would only strengthen their loyalty. Thanking the Pīa for his kindness,
I retired. How much of his liberality was due to my presence—if it were
so due at all—I do not know. But next morning Sên Suriya came to say
that he could not withstand the opposition of his wife and family. While
his faith was firm as ever, he could do no more this year. By another
year he hoped their opposition might be relaxed. Meantime the family of
refugees had weakened. I supplied all these with medicine, and urged
them to remain steadfast in the faith, reminding them that baptism was
not essential to salvation.
I had made further stay in Mûang Sai dependent upon the outcome in the
case of these two men. So now it seemed best to continue my journey
northward. I went out to a retired wooded hillock, and there spent a
quiet season in prayer, commending those in whom I had become so
intensely interested to the care of the Divine Teacher, and seeking
direction for my further course.
So far we had not met many of the hill-tribes, which had been one of the
main objectives of the tour. As I descended from the hill, I found some
thirty Kamus just arrived on some government work, and encamped by the
road. I turned aside to speak with them, when, to my surprise, one,
taller and more intelligent than the rest, answered me in good Lāo. To
my greater surprise, when I handed him a tract, he began to read it. It
seems that, when a lad, he had been initiated into the monastic order by
the Princess of Lūang Prabāng, and was one of the very few of his tribe
who was a fairly good Lāo scholar. He was delighted to get the book; but
I was like a miner who has found a new gold mine. Had they been ready to
return to their homes, I should at once have gone with them. A new
vision seemed to open before me of work among that interesting tribe. I
had seen the great value of the help afforded by Cha Pū Kaw, the first
Mūsô convert, in work among his tribe. But he was not a scholar, and was
too old to learn. Here was a Kamu scholar. Might he not have been raised
up for this very purpose?
That evening I spent with my elders in their camp. I left with my new
friend a number of books, which he promised to read to his people. I
took down the names of their villages, and promised if possible to visit
them next year—which they all begged me to do. That apparently casual
meeting seemed to me a loud call, Come over and help us! And it led to a
most interesting work, which was stopped only at the command of the
French.
Leaving Mûang Sai, we journeyed northward along the telegraph road,
enlivened by noble views of long slopes, deep gorges, and high peaks. We
passed some villages of the Yao tribe with whom we could converse only
by signs. On the third day out, at Bān Nā Tawng, we left the telegraph
road, turning off at right angles to Mûang Lā. At one village the head
man assembled his people to meet us, when he learned that here was a man
from seven days beyond the great French country! At one place we passed
a village of Lentīns, so named from the district in Cochin China from
which they came. They showed their Chinese ingenuity by having their
rice-pounding done by water-power.
Mûang Āi was the last town in French territory; beyond it one enters the
province of Yunnan, China. Here we had scarcely pitched our tent before
the governor had read our little tract on “The Way to Happiness,” and
asked us to stay awhile to teach his people. This we did, remaining from
Friday till Tuesday. He invited us to worship in his house, which was
filled to overflowing. On Saturday, in company with the governor, I
attended a wedding feast. I got along finely with the various dishes
until a bowl of blood fresh from a slaughtered hog was passed around,
and each guest took a spoonful! My note upon leaving the town was, “It
is wonderful how many, especially of the officers and the more
thoughtful class, are struck with the self-evidencing truths of the
Gospel on its first presentation. And their first thought is the sincere
conviction that the Gospel meets their wants. Nor is this testimony
invalidated because, when they come to count the cost, they are not
willing to pay it.”
I was much pleased to hear uniform testimony to the uprightness of
French officials. My own respect for French rule had greatly increased
since we entered their territory. Is it that the Tai race beyond the Mê
Kōng is more religious, or is it on account of the French rule, that
people there seem more deeply interested in the Gospel message? But such
has been the fact. I have never been cheered by brighter visions of
hopeful and speedy results of our labours. It seems almost inconceivable
that a European nation should forbid missionary work among its people.
From this point on we were warned not to allow our party to be separated
on the march. Shortly before this a merchant travelling with his son had
been attacked and killed. I heard of two mountain tribes in this
neighbourhood new to me, and of a third further to the northwest, which
sacrifices at every rice-harvest a human victim captured from some other
tribe. Scarcely any one had ever heard of the name of Jesus.
Not far from the town we passed on a ridge a well-marked boundary stone
with the letters R. F. (République Française) on one side, and C. R.
(Chieng Rung) on the other, in large Roman capitals. Noticing by the
roadside a large stack of bricks, we learned that we were near the salt
wells, and that the salt was compressed into bricks for easier
transportation on mules. The salt industry makes Bān Baw Rê an important
place. No one with white clothes, white hair, or white beard is allowed
to enter the enclosure about the salt wells; so I did not see them. I
could get no reason for the prohibition, save that the spirits would be
displeased.
The time of my visit was unfortunate, being the beginning of their New
Year festival, which is always a season of carousal. That night we had a
scene that defied description. After supper a man came to tell me to get
ready; they were going to “saw” me. I did not know what “saw”-ing might
be; but I soon learned, to my disgust. Presently a noisy crowd entered
the sālā where I was, with drums, fifes, and other musical instruments,
and surrounded me with deafening noise and songs. A great personage had
come to their place, and they were come to do him honour. He had great
riches, and they expected a treat of fifty rupees. Paying no attention
to my attempted disclaimer, they went on: “Give us out your money. Give
us fifty rupees! Give us twenty-five!” Pushing my way out of the noisy
circle, I was followed with more imperative demands. At last the
governor’s son came up as a friend and advised me to give them five or
six rupees, or they would never depart. Then one of my elders came to
me, anxious regarding the outcome, and said that it was only a New Year
custom, not a religious one—intimating that I need have no conscientious
scruples in the matter. Finally the governor’s son said he could get
them off with three rupees. I had only one in my pocket, and did not
dare open my box before that mob. At last I handed the young man that
one, and, with an emphasis which they understood, told him that I would
give no more, appealing to his father for protection, and holding him
responsible for the consequences. They went off sullenly enough. Having
gone so far, I doubt whether they would have desisted without something
“to save their face.” From me they went to the governor’s, and so on, in
order, throughout the place, with their hideous noise, which I could
hear far on into the night.
At another village further on, the people seemed in doubt how to receive
me, till a young man came forward and asked if I were not the man who a
few years before travelled through that country with an elephant, and
let the Prince of Mûang Pōng have a gun. Then, turning to the head man,
he said, “You need not be afraid. He is a teacher of the
Jesus-religion.” My standing in that village was assured. One of the
listeners at our worship in the monastery that night was much impressed,
not with the idea of pardon, as is commonly the case, but with that of
the Holy Spirit to purify and cleanse. That was what he needed; and he
earnestly enquired how to obtain his aid. This led to the subject of
prayer to a living, personal God, who has promised this aid. We left him
with the hope that his great need would be supplied.
Mûang Lā was the furthest point reached on this tour. From it we struck
westward into our old route of 1893 at Mûang Pōng. The Chao Fā who got
my gun had been killed by his people. I was much struck with the
judicial aspect of the act as told me. One of the officers said, “He was
a bad man, who oppressed the people, fined and executed them unjustly,
and, of course, we killed him. That is the way the Lāo do.” A nephew and
adopted son of the murdered Prince succeeded him, but the authority was
largely in the hands of the Prayā Lūang, though the young Prince’s
mother also had great influence. She invited me to a good dinner, and we
had a most interesting conversation. Among other things she asked, “How
is it that you say Buddhism cannot save?” and she seemed much impressed
with the answer: “Because Gautama Buddha is gone, and it is more than
twenty-five hundred years before the next Buddha is expected.”
We were now travelling southward, and soon came once more upon the
tricolour floating over the French post at Mûang Sing. I felt like
saluting it. I was greatly surprised to find an Englishman, Mr. Eva, in
charge. He fairly shouted to hear his mother tongue once more. He had
scarcely heard a word of it for three years. Seeing that I was spent
with my long, hot ride, and that my carriers would not get in till
nightfall, he kindly offered to hunt me up some luncheon. This I
declined, if only I might have a cup of tea and a piece of dry bread.
Holding up both hands, he exclaimed, “You’ve got me there! I’ve almost
forgotten how wheat bread tastes.” He insisted on my taking up my
quarters in his bungalow, till I said, “If you were on French business,
you would wish to stop where you could best accomplish it, would you
not? I am here on missionary work, and my business is with the people.
The monastery grounds will suit me better.” “Looking at it in that
light,” said he, “you’re right. I’ll say no more.” I knew that in the
home of a French official I should have no visitors at all.
He was the son of an English Wesleyan minister; but, being a wild lad,
he had wandered away and drifted into the French army, where he rose to
an official position. But the influences of his early days had not been
lost. We had many heart-to-heart talks together. He wanted an English
Bible. Having only my “Oxford” along, I could not spare him that, but
brought him one on my next tour. On Sunday he attended the service led
by the elders, pleased at the evidence they gave of the reality of our
missionary work. He had six thousand Kamus in his district.
The opium habit is very common. We found but few monasteries in the
Sipsawng Pannā whose abbots and monks did not use opium. One man, when
asked whether he used it, made a significant answer: “When I have money,
I do. When I have none, I don’t.”
The Chao Fā of Mûang Sing was busy preparing for the marriage of his
daughter with a son of the great Chao Fā of Chieng Rung. So I did not
see much of him. I had a long talk, however, with the prospective groom.
He doubted the possibility of pardon for sin. I had several interviews
with Dr. McKean’s patient for calculus, before mentioned. He was not so
near Christianity as I hoped to find him, but was profuse in praise of
the doctor and the hospital. He had two wives before the operation, and
now was utilizing his new lease of life by taking another younger one. I
saw here some peaches not quite ripe—which was very tantalizing. But I
did get some ripe plums.
When I left Mûang Sing on April 28th, Mr. Eva escorted me six miles on
my way, and we bade each other good-bye four or five times before we
could finally part. At Wieng Pūkā I had another warm welcome from the
French Commissaire. I had to decline his invitation, also, to good
quarters with him; but dined with him at night, and next morning he sent
me a nice shoulder of beef. A large number of Kamus were here engaged on
some public works. Unlike most of their tribe, these are Buddhists, and
there were a number who could read, and who were delighted to get books.
It was remarkable that their women spoke Lāo fairly well. Their chief
officer had eighteen hundred men under him. After talking with them till
near midnight, I turned them over to the elders, and was soon asleep.
Next morning my cook came to my tent to enquire whether I were not ill.
It was half-past six, and breakfast was ready!
We passed many Kamu villages in this portion of our route. Most of them
would welcome a missionary, and seemed ripe for the Gospel. Formerly,
under the government of Nān, they had an easy time, with no taxes and
almost voluntary service. Now they naturally complained of the stricter
régime of the French. I consoled them with the fact that the world over
people have to pay taxes to the government that protects them. For this
I did not at all need the warning which Mr. Eva gave me, that the one
thing which the French would not tolerate was interference with their
government work. At Chieng Kawng I took leave of French territory, with
nothing but feelings of gratitude for the uniform personal kindness of
their officials, and their apparently kind interest in our work. That
work I must now dismiss with the very brief outline I have given. I
believe that light was conveyed to many seekers after truth, and seed
was sown which will not be lost.
From Chieng Kawng onwards I was on old touring ground, and among
friends. I spent a Sunday there, made a short visit to the Mūsô hills,
and found a warm welcome in Chieng Rāi from the two missionary families
who were now established in that station, as well as from my many native
friends. Here I received my long-desired mail. Its good cheer was
tempered by one sad piece of news—the death of my sister Mary and my
brother Evander, the last of my own mother’s children. On May 16th I
entered upon my own three-score and tenth year. Leaving Chieng Rāi on
the 18th, I reached home on the 26th, after an absence of four and a
half months.
Meanwhile the work in our own and in all the other stations had been
energetically prosecuted by a faithful band of younger workers, better
prepared than the old ones to carry it on to completion. And the other
long tour to the English territory, planned for the later portion of the
year, was successfully carried out by Dr. Briggs, Rev. Mr. Dodd, and
Rev. Mr. Irwin.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXXIV
THE CLOSED DOOR
The tour of 1898 was undertaken with two special objects in view: (1) to
follow up the auspicious beginnings of work among the Kamu and Lamēt
tribes, the largest and most important within the mountain area explored
during the previous season, and, apparently, ready as a body to accept
the Gospel; and (2) to secure the sanction of the French government for
continued work in French territory. I was unable to secure a missionary
colleague for the tour, and therefore went accompanied only by native
evangelists. I took the most direct route, crossing the Mê Kōng at Pāk
Bêng, following the Bêng River to its source, and crossing by the pass
at its head to Mûang Sai, the point at which the most promising work of
the previous tour was begun. The journey so far occupied nearly a
month’s time.
The tour was organized on notice too short to permit my passport from
the United States Minister in Bangkok to reach me in Chiengmai before I
started. It was, therefore, sent on direct to the French authorities at
Lūang Prabāng. Meantime M. Vackle, the Commandant Supérieur, who was so
kind to us the year before, had been superseded by M. Luce; and him,
unfortunately, we just missed at the crossing of the Mê Kōng. He passed
up in a steamer the day before we reached the river. By the time we
reached Mûang Sai, M. Luce had returned to Lūang Prabāng, and had wired
to the office in Mûang Sai that my passport was come, and that I was
expected in Lūang Prabāng. No instructions were given regarding my work,
and the authorities were in doubt what to do. Under the circumstances,
the only passport they could issue was one to the capital, Lūang
Prabāng.
They were not particular, however, as to the route I should take. So I
chose a circuit to the northeast, leading through the mountain region to
the Ū River, down which I could descend by boat to Lūang Prabāng. This
would enable me to find Nān Tit, the Kamu scholar whom I met at Mûang
Sai on my previous tour, and to visit with him a few Kamu villages. The
extent of the work I hoped to undertake that season would depend upon
the opening I found there. A passport was given me by that route, and a
soldier was sent along as guide and escort.
Nān Tit, as I hoped, had read the books I gave him, had prepared the way
for me by teaching the substance of them to his neighbours, and now
would assist me in teaching his tribe. With him as interpreter and
assistant we visited a number of contiguous villages, holding night
conferences, at which the whole population of the village would be
present. Everywhere a wonderfully ready response was given to the
Gospel. They, too, were oppressed by the dread of spirits, and welcomed
deliverance from their bondage. They would accept the Gospel, but,
naturally, referred us on to the Pīa.
To his village at last we went. He was a venerable man near seventy, and
though for years hopelessly crippled by paralysis of the lower limbs,
his bright mind and business talents had raised him to his present
position, and given him a commanding influence. I shall never forget our
first interview. He had heard the rumour that our religion could
overcome the spirits and save from sin. Crawling painfully on his hands
to meet us, he welcomed us to his village and his people. He had heard
of the Jesus-religion, and wished to embrace it. Since he was old, he
must do it soon. This was on Friday afternoon. By Saturday night every
family in the place had made the same decision, and would begin by
keeping their first Sabbath next day. Our elders entered with heart and
soul into teaching them. The young folks soon learned a verse or two of
“The Happy Land,” and some a verse or two in the Catechism. Next
morning, before I was dressed, old and young of both sexes were
gathering to learn how to keep the Sabbath. It was a great day, just the
like of which I had never seen. It settled the decision of hundreds,
possibly of thousands, of people.