Читать книгу A Half Century Among the Siamese and the Lāo: An Autobiography - Daniel McGilvary - Страница 9

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By this time the mission generally had become interested in the establishment of a new station at Pechaburī. Dr. and Mrs. House were designated for the post. The Doctor actually went to Pechaburī; procured there, through the help of our friend the Palat, a lot with a house on it; and thus committed the mission to the project. But the day before he was to start homeward to prepare for removal thither, he was so seriously hurt by a fall from his horse that he was confined to his bed for several months. It was even feared that he was permanently disabled for active life. A new adjustment of our personnel was thus necessitated. Dr. Mattoon had just returned from the United States with the Rev. S. G. McFarland, the Rev. N. A. McDonald, and their wives. Dr. Mattoon could not be spared from Bangkok, nor was he enthusiastic over the new station. Mr. McDonald had no desire for such experiments. Both Mr. and Mrs. McFarland were anxious to move, but were too new to the field to be sent out alone. They were urgent that we should go with them. My opportunity had come. So, early in June, 1861, we broke up the first home of our married life, and, in company with the McFarlands, moved on to our new home and our new work.

Our friend, the Pra Palat, seemed pleased that we had come, after all. His slight knowledge of English had been learned as a private pupil from Mrs. McGilvary’s own mother. He was glad, whenever he had leisure, to continue his studies with Mrs. McGilvary. Mr. McFarland preferred school work. He took the son that I was to have taught, and left me untrammelled to enter upon evangelistic work. The half-hour after each evening meal we spent in united prayer for guidance and success. Two servants of each family were selected as special subjects of prayer; and these, in due time, we had the pleasure of welcoming into the church.

Of the incidents of our Pechaburī life I have room for but a single one. As we were rising from the dinner-table one Sunday shortly after our arrival, we were surprised to see a man coming up the steps and crossing the veranda in haste, as if on a special errand. He led by the hand a little boy of ten or twelve years, and said, “I want to commit this son of mine into your care. I want you to teach him.” Struck by his earnest manner, we drew from him these facts: He was a farmer named Nāi Kawn, living some five miles out in the country. He had just heard of our arrival, had come immediately, and was very glad to find us.

We asked whether he had ever met a missionary before. No, he said, but his father—since dead—had once met Dr. Bradley, and had received a book from him. He had begged other books from neighbours who had received them but did not value them. Neither did he at first, till the great cholera scourge of 1849, when people were dying all around him. He was greatly alarmed, and learned from one of the books that Pra Yēsū heard prayer in trouble, and could save from sin. For a long time he prayed for light, until, about three years ago, he believed in Jesus, and was now happy in heart. He had heard once of Dr. Bradley’s coming to Pechaburī, but not until he was gone again. He preached to his neighbours, who called him “Kon Pra Yēsū” (Lord Jesus’ man). He had prayed for Dr. Bradley and the missionaries; he had read the story of Moses, the Epistle to the Romans, the Gospel of John, a tract on Prayer, and “The Golden Balance”; and he believed them. He could repeat portions of Romans and John verbatim; and he had his son repeat the Lord’s Prayer.

My subject at the afternoon service was Nicodemus and the New Birth. Nāi Kawn sat spellbound, frequently nodding assent. At the close we asked him to speak a few words; which he did with great clearness. On being questioned as to the Trinity, he replied that he was not sure whether he understood it. He gathered, however, that Jehovah was the Father and Ruler; that the Son came to save us by dying for us; and that the Holy Spirit is the Comforter. The difference between Jesus and Buddha is that the latter entered into Nirvana, and that was the last of him; while Jesus lives to save. He even insisted that he had seen a vision of Jesus in heaven. His other experiences were characterized by such marks of soberness that we wondered whether his faith might not have been strengthened by a dream or a vision.

This incident, coming so soon after our arrival, greatly cheered us in our work. His subsequent story is too long to follow out in detail here. His piety and his sincerity were undoubted. He lived and died a Christian; yet he never fully identified himself with the church. He insisted that he had been baptized by the Holy Ghost, and that there was no need of further baptism. Not long after this Dr. Bradley and Mr. Mattoon visited Pechaburī, examined the man, and were equally surprised at his history.

What changed our life-work from the Siamese to the Lāo? There were two principal causes. The various Lāo states which are now a part of Siam, were then ruled by feudal princes, each virtually sovereign within his own dominions, but all required to pay a triennial visit to the Siamese capital, bringing the customary gifts to their suzerain, the King of Siam, and renewing their oath of allegiance to him. Their realms served, moreover, as a “buffer” between Siam and Burma. There were six of these feudal principalities. Five of them occupied the basins of five chief tributaries of the Mênam River; namely—in order from west to east—Chiengmai, Lampūn, Lakawn, Prê, and Nān. The sixth was Lūang Prabāng on the Mê Kōng River. The rapids on all these streams had served as an effectual barrier in keeping the northern and the southern states quite separate. There was no very frequent communication in trade. There was no mail communication. Official despatches were passed along from one governor to the next. Very little was known in Bangkok about the Lāo provinces of the north. A trip from Bangkok to Chiengmai seemed then like going out of the world. Only one Englishman, Sir Robert Schomburgk of the British Consulate in Bangkok, had ever made it.

PAGODA OF WAT CHÊNG, BANGKOK

Of these Lāo states, Chiengmai was the most important. After it came Nān, then Lūang Prabāng (since ceded to the French), Lakawn, Prê, and Lampūn. The Lāo people were regarded in Siam as a very warlike race; one chieftain in particular being famed as a great warrior. They were withal said to be suspicious and unreliable.

Almost the only visible result of my six months’ stay within the city of Bangkok, after my marriage, was the formation of a slight acquaintance with the Prince of Chiengmai and his family. Just before my marriage he had arrived in Bangkok with a great flotilla of boats and a great retinue of attendants. The grounds of Wat Chêng monastery, near to Dr. Bradley’s compound, had always been their stopping-place. The consequence was that, of all the missionaries, Dr. Bradley had become best acquainted with them and most deeply interested in them. He earnestly cultivated their friendship, invited them to his printing-office and to his house, and continually preached unto them the Gospel. They were much interested in vaccination, which he had introduced, and were delighted to find that it protected them from smallpox.

The day after our marriage, in response to a present of some wedding cake, the Prince himself, with his two daughters and a large train of attendants, called on us in our new home. This was my first introduction to Chao Kāwilōrot and his family, who were to play so important a rôle in my future life. All that I saw of him and of his people interested me greatly. During the short time we remained in their neighbourhood, I made frequent visits to the Lāo camp. The subject of a mission in Chiengmai was talked of, with apparent approval on the part of the Prince. My interest in Pechaburī was increased by the knowledge that there was a large colony of Lāo^[5] there. These were captives of war from the region of Khōrāt, bearing no very close resemblance to our later parishioners in the north. At the time of our stay in Pechaburī, the Lāo in that province were held as government slaves, engaged all day on various public works—a circumstance which greatly impeded our access to them, and at the same time made it more difficult for them to embrace Christianity. Neither they nor we dared apply to the government for the requisite sanction, lest thereby their case be made worse. Our best opportunity for work among them was at night. My most pleasant memories of Pechaburī cluster about scenes in Lāo villages, when the whole population would assemble, either around a camp-fire or under the bright light of the moon, to listen till late in the night to the word of God. The conversion of Nāi Ang, the first one from that colony, anticipated that of Nān Inta, and the larger ingathering in the North.

5.The application of this name is by no means uniform throughout the peninsula. From Lūang Prabāng southward along the eastern frontier, the tribes of that stock call themselves Lāo, and are so called by their neighbours. But the central and western groups do not acknowledge the name as theirs at all, but call themselves simply Tai; or if a distinction must be made, they call themselves Kon Nûa (Northerners), and the Siamese, Kon Tai (Southerners). The Siamese, on the other hand, also call themselves Tai, which is really the race-name, common to all branches of the stock; and they apply the name Lāo alike to all their northern cousins except the Ngīo, or Western Shans. Nothing is known of the origin of the name, but the same root no doubt appears in such tribal and geographical names as Lawā, Lawa, Lawō—the last being the name of the famous abandoned capital now known as Lophburi.—Ed.

But there was more than a casual connection between the two. My labours among them increased the desire, already awakened in me, to reach the home of the race. Here was another link in the chain of providences by which I was led to my life-work. The time, however, was not yet ripe. The available force of the mission was not yet large enough to justify further expansion. Moreover, our knowledge of the Lāo country was not such as to make possible any comprehensive and intelligent plans for a mission there. The first thing to do was evidently to make a tour of exploration. The way to such a tour was opened in the fall of 1863. The Presbytery of Siam met in Bangkok early in November. I had so arranged my affairs that, if the way should open, I could go north directly, without returning to Pechaburī. I knew that Mr. Wilson was free, and I thought he would favour the trip. This he readily did, and the mission gave its sanction. So I committed my wife and our two-year-old daughter to the care of loving grandparents, and, after a very hasty preparation, we started on the 20th of November in search of far-away Chiengmai.

The six-oared touring-boat which I had fitted up in my bachelor days was well adapted for our purpose as far as the first fork of the Mênam. The Siamese are experts with the oar, but are unused to the setting-pole, which is well-nigh the only resource all through the upper reaches of the river. It was sunset on a Friday evening before we finally got off. But it was a start; and it proved to be one of the straws on which the success of the trip depended. The current against us was very strong; so we slept within the city limits that night. We spent all day Saturday traversing a canal parallel with the river, where the current was weaker. It was sunset before we entered again the main stream, and stopped to spend Sunday at a monastery. To our great surprise we found that the Prince of Chiengmai—of whose coming we had had no intimation—had camped there the night before, and had passed on down to Bangkok that very morning. We had missed him by taking the canal!

We were in doubt whether we ought not to return and get a letter from him. A favourable letter would be invaluable; but he might refuse, or even forbid our going. If we may judge from what we afterwards knew of his suspicious nature, such probably would have been the outcome. At any rate, it would delay us; and we had already a passport from the Siamese government which would ensure our trip. And, doubtless, we did accomplish our design with more freedom because of the Prince’s absence from his realm. It was apparently a fortuitous thing that our men knew of the more sluggish channel, and so missed the Lāo flotilla. But it is quite possible that upon that choice depended the establishment of the Lāo mission.

All went well until we reached the first fork at Pāknam Pō. There the water came rushing down like a torrent, so swift that oars were of no avail. We tried first one side of the stream and then the other, but all in vain. Our boatmen exchanged their oars for poles. But they were awkward and unaccustomed to their use. The boat would inevitably drift down stream. The poor boatmen laughed despairingly at their own failure. At last a rope was suggested. The men climbed the bank, and dragged the boat around the point to where the current was less swift. But when, as often happened, it became necessary to cross to the other side of the river, the first push off the bank would send us into water so deep that a fifteen-foot pole could not reach bottom. Away would go the boat some hundreds of yards down stream before we could bring up on the opposite bank. We reached Rahêng, however, in nineteen travelling days—which was not by any means bad time.

In our various journeyings hitherto we had controlled our own means of transportation. Henceforth we were at the mercy of native officials, to whose temperament such things as punctuality and speed are altogether alien. From Rahêng the trip by elephant to Chiengmai should be only twelve days. By boat, the trip would be much longer, though the return trip would be correspondingly shorter. We had a letter from Bangkok to the officials along the route, directing them to procure for us boats, elephants, or men, as we might need. We were in a hurry, and, besides, were young and impulsive. The officials at Rahêng assured us that we should have prompt despatch. No one, however, seemed to make any effort to send us on. The governor was a great Buddhist, and fond of company and argument. He could match our Trinity by a Buddhist one: Putthō, Thammō, Sangkhō—Buddha, the Scriptures, the Brotherhood. Men’s own good deeds were their only atonement. The one religion was as good as the other. On these subjects he would talk by the hour; but when urged to get our elephants, he always had an excuse. At last, in despair, we decided to take our boatmen and walk. When this news reached the governor, whether from pity of us, or from fear that some trouble might grow out of it, he sent word that if we would wait till the next day, we should have the elephants without fail.

We got the elephants; but, as it was, from preference I walked most of the way. Once I paid dear for my walk by getting separated from my elephant in the morning, losing my noonday lunch, and not regaining my party till, tired and hungry, I reached camp at night. Our guide had taken a circuitous route to avoid a band of robbers on the main route which I had followed! This was my first experience of elephant-riding. We crossed rivers where the banks were steep, and there was no regular landing. But whether ascending or descending steep slopes, whether skirting streams and waterfalls, one may trust the elephant’s sagacity and surefootedness. The view we had from one of the mountain ridges seemed incomparably fine. The Mê Ping wound its way along the base beneath us, while beyond, to right and to left, rose range beyond range, with an occasional peak towering high above the rest. But that was tame in comparison with many mountain views encountered in subsequent years.

We were eight days in reaching Lakawn,^[6] which we marked as one of our future mission stations. On being asked whether he would welcome a mission there, the governor replied, “If the King of Siam and the Prince of Chiengmai approve.” At Lakawn we had no delay, stopping there only from Friday till Monday morning. Thence to Lampūn we found sālās, or rest-houses, at regular intervals. The watershed between these towns was the highest we had crossed. The road follows the valley of a stream to near the summit, and then follows another stream down on the other side. The gorge was in places so narrow that the elephant-saddle scraped the mountain wall on one side, while on the other a misstep would have precipitated us far down to the brook-bed below.

6.A corruption of Nakawn (for Sanskrit nagara, capital city), which is the first part of the official name of the place, Nakawn Lampāng. The Post Office calls it Lampāng, to distinguish it from another Nakawn (likewise Lakawn in common speech), in the Malay Peninsula—the place known to Europeans as Ligor. The general currency of this short name, and its regular use in all the missionary literature, seem to justify its retention in this narrative.—Ed.

At Lampūn my companion was not well, so that I alone called on the authorities. The governor had called the princes together to learn our errand. They seemed bewildered when told that we had no government business, nor were we traders—were only teachers of religion. When the proper officer was directed to send us on quickly, he began to make excuses that it would take two or three days. Turning sharply upon him, the governor asked, “Prayā Sanām, how many elephants have you?” “Four,” was the response. “See that they get off to-morrow,” was the short reply. He meekly withdrew. There was evidently no trifling with that governor. One day more brought us to Chiengmai—to the end of what seemed then a very long journey. As we neared the city, Mr. Wilson’s elephant took fright at the creaking noise of a water-wheel, and ran away, crashing through bamboo fences and trampling down gardens. Fortunately no one was hurt.

We reached the city on January 7th, 1864, on the forty-ninth day of our journey. The nephew of the Prince had been left in charge during the Prince’s absence. He evidently was in doubt how to receive us. He could not ignore our passport and letter from Bangkok. On the other hand, why did we not have a letter from the Prince? Our story of missing him through choosing the canal instead of the main river might or might not be true. If the deputy were too hospitable, his Prince might blame him. So he cut the knot, and went off to his fields. We saw no more of him till he came in to see us safely off.

The elder daughter of the Prince had accompanied her father to Bangkok, but the younger daughter was at home. She was a person of great influence, and was by nature hospitable. Things could not have been better planned for our purpose. The princess remembered me and my wife from her call on us after our wedding. She now called on us in person with her retinue; after that everybody else was free to call. It is not unlikely that that previous acquaintance redeemed our trip from being a failure. Our sālā was usually crowded with visitors. We had an ideal opportunity of seeing the heart of the people. They lacked a certain external refinement seen among the Siamese; but they seemed sincere and more religious. Buddhism had not become so much a matter of form. Many of the older people then spent a day and a night, or even two days, each month fasting in the monasteries. There was hope that if such people saw a better way, they would accept it. One officer, who lived just behind our sālā, a great merit-maker, was a constant visitor. Years afterward we had the pleasure of welcoming him to the communion of the church.

From every point of view the tour was eminently successful. Many thousands heard the Gospel for the first time. In our main quest we were more than successful. We were delighted with the country, the cities, the people. Every place we came to we mentally took possession of for our Lord and Master. In Chiengmai we remained only ten days; but one day would have sufficed to convince us. I, at least, left it with the joyful hope of its becoming the field of my life-work.

From the first we had planned to return by the river through the rapids. But the prince in charge was very averse to our going by that route. We knew that the route positively made no difference to him personally. He had only to give the word, and either elephants or boats would be forthcoming. Was he afraid of our spying out the road into the country? At last we were obliged to insist on the wording of our letter, which specially mentioned boats. Then he offered us one so small that he probably thought we would refuse it. But we took it; and our captain afterwards exchanged it for a larger one. We made a swift passage through the famous rapids, and reached Bangkok on January 30th, 1864.

The first news that we heard on our arrival was that Mrs. Mattoon was obliged to leave at once for the United States, and that Mr. Wilson was to take his furlough at the same time. This, of course, ended all plans for any immediate removal to Chiengmai. We hastened to Pechaburī, where the McFarlands had been alone during our absence. Three years were to pass before our faces were again turned northward.