No friend of mine knew at that time how hard it was for me to bear up,
in the utter loneliness and forlornness of my life, under the load of
cares and provocations and fears that gradually accumulated upon me.
But ah! if any germ of love and truth fell from my heart into the heart
of even the meanest of those wives and concubines and children of a
king, if by any word of mine the least of them was won to look up, out
of the depths of their miserable life, to a higher, clearer, brighter
light than their Buddha casts upon their path, then indeed I did not
labor in vain among them.
In the summer of 1866 my health suddenly broke down, and for a time, it
was thought that I must die. When good Dr. Campbell gave me the solemn
warning all my trouble seemed to cease, and but for one sharp pang for
my children,--one in England, the other in Siam,--I should have derived
pure and perfect pleasure from the prospect of eternal rest, so weary
was I of my tumultuous life in the East; and though in the end I
regained my strength in a measure, I was no longer able to comply with
the pitiless exactions of the king. And so, yielding to the urgent
entreaties of my friends, I decided to return to England.
It took me half a year to get his Majesty's consent; and it was not
without tiresome accusations of ingratitude and idleness that he granted
me leave of absence for six months.
I had hardly courage to face the women and children the day I told them
I was going away. It was hard to be with them; but it seemed cowardly to
leave them. For some time most of them refused to believe that I was
really going; but when they could doubt no longer, they displayed the
most touching tenderness and thoughtfulness. Many sent me small sums of
money to help me on the journey. The poorest and meanest slaves brought
me rice cakes, dried beans, cocoanuts, and sugar. It was in vain that I
assured them I could not carry such things away with me; still the
supplies poured in.
The king himself, who had been silent and sullen until the morning of my
departure, relented when the time came to say good by. He embraced Boy
with cordial kindness, and gave him a silver buckle, and a bag
containing a hundred dollars to buy sweetmeats on the way. Then turning
to me, he said (as if forgetting himself): "Mam! you much beloved by our
common people, and all inhabitants of palace and royal children. Every
one is in affliction of your departure; and even that opium-eating
secretary, P'hra-Alâck, is very low down in his heart because you will
go. It shall be because you must be a good and true lady. I am often
angry on you, and lose my temper, though I have large respect for you.
But nevertheless you ought to know you are difficult woman, and more
difficult than generality. But you will forget, and come back to my
service, for I have more confidence on you every day. Good by!" I could
not reply; my eyes filled with tears.
Then came the parting with my pupils, the women and the children. That
was painful enough, even while the king was present; but when he
abruptly withdrew, great was the uproar. What could I do, but stand
still and submit to kisses, embraces, reproaches, from princesses and
slaves? At last I rushed through the gate, the women screaming after me,
"Come back!" and the children, "Don't go!" I hurried to the residence of
the heir-apparent, to the most trying scene of all. His regret seemed
too deep for words, and the few he did utter were very touching. Taking
both my hands and laying his brow upon them, he said, after a long
interval of silence, "_Mam cha klap ma thort!_"--"Mam dear, come back,
please!" "Keep a brave and true heart, my prince!" was all that I could
say; and my last "God bless _you!_" was addressed to the royal palace of
Siam.
To this young prince, Chowfa Chulalonkorn, I was strongly attached. He
often deplored with me the cruelty with which the slaves were treated,
and, young as he was, did much to inculcate kindness toward them among
his immediate attendants. He was a conscientious lad, of pensive habit
and gentle temper; many of my poor clients I bequeathed to his care,
particularly the Chinese lad Ti. Speaking of slavery one day, he said to
me: "These are not slaves, but nobles; they know how to bear. It is we,
the princes, who have yet to learn which is the more noble, the
oppressor or the oppressed."
When I left the palace the king was fast failing in body and mind, and,
in spite of his seeming vigor, there was no real health in his rule,
while he had his own way. All the substantial success we find in his
administration is due to the ability and energy of his accomplished
premier, Phya Kralahome, and even his strength has been wasted. The
native arts and literature have retrograded; in the mechanic arts much
has been lost; and the whole nation is given up to gambling.
The capacity of the Siamese race for improvement in any direction has
been sufficiently demonstrated, and the government has made fair
progress in political and moral reforms; but the condition of the slaves
is such as to excite astonishment and horror. What may be the ultimate
fate of Siam under this accursed system, whether she will ever
emancipate herself while the world lasts, there is no guessing. The
happy examples free intercourse affords, the influence of European
ideas, and the compulsion of public opinion, may yet work wonders.
On the 5th of July, 1867, we left Bangkok in the steamer Chow Phya. All
our European friends accompanied us to the Gulf of Siam, where we
parted, with much regret on my side; and of all those whose kindness had
bravely cheered us during our long (I am tempted to write) _captivity_,
the last to bid us God-speed was the good Captain Orton, to whom I here
tender my heartfelt thanks.