A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan States

by Holt S. Hallett

CHAPTER XI.

VISIT THE SIAMESE COMMISSIONER—DESCRIPTION AND DRESS OF SIAMESE—DECEITFUL OFFICIALS—PRINCE PRISDANG’S LETTER—PIE-CRUST PROMISES—A MOUNTEBANK—CALL ON THE PRINCESS—TREATY OF 1874—SIAM‘S RELATION TO SHAN STATES—FORMER OBSTACLES TO TRADE REMOVED—VISIT FROM CHOW OO-BOON—ASSASSINATING A LOVER—SHAN QUEEN IN ENGLISH DRESS—FAST AND EASY-GOING ELEPHANTS PRIZED—KIAN YUEN, AN OLD CAPITAL—A CHINESE PAGODA—CITY OF THE FLOWER-GARDEN—MUANG LA MAING, THE SITE OF THE FIRST ZIMMÉ SHAN CITY—ASCENT OF LOI SOO TAYP—THE PAGODA OF THE EMERALD RICE-BOWL—PAGODA SLAVES—DR M‘GILVARY JOINS MY PARTY—VISITING BURMESE FORESTERS—RELIGIOUS BUILDINGS ERECTED BY THE BURMESE.

In the afternoon Dr M‘Gilvary went with me to call on the Siamese commissioner, who resides in a large, two-storeyed, whitewashed brick house, near the west bank of the river. We were shown into an airy upper room, which serves as an audience-chamber, and is furnished with a large round table surrounded by a number of chairs. On our entry we were welcomed by Chow Don, the junior Siamese assistant-commissioner, a bright, gentlemanly-looking young man about twenty-four years of age. A few minutes later the Siamese commissioner, an iron-grey-haired, well-built man above the average height of Siamese, and very plausible and courteous in behaviour, came in, and after shaking hands, offered us cigars and tea.

Amongst the Siamese the dress of the two sexes is exactly alike, but the women are shorter and more brazen-faced than the men, and wear a love-lock above each ear. Both have their hair cut short at the back and sides of the head, and wear it either swept back from the forehead or parted in the middle. It is very thick, coarse, and intensely black.

Their dress consists of a panung or waist-cloth, and a jacket. The panung is a plaid-shaped cloth about 7 feet long and 2½ feet broad, and made of cotton or of silk. It is passed round the body, held together tight in front, where a twist in the top is made, and tucked in. The two trailing ends are then picked up, passed under the legs, and tucked in at the small of the back. The upper classes wear stockings, often of gay colours, and elastic-sided boots or shoes, and girdle themselves with a cricketing belt, or with one fastened by a buckle set with precious stones.

The average height of the Siamese men is 5 feet 3 inches, or 3 or 4 inches less than that of the Zimmé Shans. The women seldom exceed 4 feet 9 inches in height. They seemed to me to be a cross between the Khas and the Shans, made more repulsive by a dash of the Malay and Chinese. They have broad, flat, lozenge-shaped faces; high cheek-bones; small bridgeless noses; low foreheads; small, black, pig-eyes; wide mouths; thick, non-protruding lips; a yellowish-brown complexion; and, generally, a sullen expression.

I had been warned before leaving Burmah that Siamese officials are deceitful above all things, and that I must not rely upon a single atom of information I got from them. From personal intercourse, I found that the gentleman who warned me was strictly correct in his judgment. In answer to your questions, they tell you the most plausible lie that trips to their tongue, and if you chance to test their accuracy by reverting to the subject in the same or a future conversation, contradict themselves most flatly. If you trouble yourself to point out the inconsistency of their statements, they are ashamed—but only of not having played their game better.

After a little preliminary conversation, I told the commissioner that Prince Prisdang, the Siamese ambassador in London, had promised about seven months before to write to the King of Siam about my mission, and had written to Mr Colquhoun as follows: “I have no hesitation in informing you that any well-digested scheme which has for its object the improvement of the commercial position of Siam, and the consolidation of the kingdom, will receive the attentive consideration of his Majesty and my Government; and that his Majesty will allow all facilities to be given for any purposes of exploration, or of gaining accurate knowledge, by properly qualified persons, of the nature of the country proposed to be traversed by the railway.”

He told me that he had received no instructions whatever on the subject from the king, but no doubt he would receive them in a few days; in the meantime he would gladly do all he could to aid me in my project.

I then asked him to aid me in gathering information about the trade and population of the country, and to give me a letter to the various princes in the district, asking them to aid me to the utmost in their power. This he promised to do, and the conversation became general. When I received the letter, it proved to be so milk-and-watery that it was worse than worthless, and Dr M‘Gilvary advised me to keep it as a curiosity, and not to show it. All his other promises were merely pie-crust—made to be broken.

Just as we were preparing to go, Phra Udon, the senior assistant-commissioner, came bounding in like a clown at a circus, greeting us all boisterously with “How do you all do? So glad you’ve come. All well, I hope?” Then he hurried round from one to the other, and shook hands in an affectionately jovial manner. I had heard about this individual before I came, and was therefore more amused than surprised at his manner. There was no ceremony about him. We were jolly companions every one, and he would be delighted to be the tomfool of the party. It is surprising how such a mountebank could have got even into the Siamese service. From subsequent inquiry, I learnt that he was a native of Ceylon, who, with other monks, had come over to Siam many years ago at the invitation of the king, and who, managing to curry favour at Court, threw off the yellow robe and entered the Government service.

Conversation now passed into a shower of questions from Phra Udon, amid which our answers could barely be squeezed edgewise; this moment Siamese, the next English, and every now and then the two combined. After a time, I grew weary of the assumed joviality, and was glad to say good-bye and retreat from the scene.

Our next call was upon Chow Boo-re Rak, the Chow Hoo-a Muang Kyow, or head of the Gem City—a man of fine stature, with a keen eye and intelligent mind. We did not detain him long, because he was hearing cases in his house, but went to see the king’s eldest son by a former marriage, who holds the post of Chow Racha Boot; and afterwards Chow Oo-ta-ra-kan, who, if primogeniture ruled the accession to the throne in the Shan States, would have been King of Zimmé. To prevent disturbances the King of Siam kept Noi Maha Prome, his father and the eldest son of a former king, at Bangkok, until the day of his death.

Having finished our calls we strolled homewards, chatting about the various people we had seen.

The Siamese judge, or commissioner, was appointed under the Anglo-Siamese treaty of 1874, whereby we recognised the control of Siam over the Shan States of Chiengmai, Lakon, and Lampoonchi (Zimmé, Lakon, and Lapoon). This treaty arranged for the policing of the frontier, the extradition of dacoits, and the appointment of Siamese judges at Zimmé. The judges were to decide between British subjects having passports and Siamese subjects; but a proviso was made that in case the British subject did not consent to the jurisdiction of the court, his or her case should be tried by the British consul at Bangkok, or the British officer in the Yoonzaleen district of Lower Burmah.

Previous to this treaty the Siamese authority in the Shan States was confined to the regulation of their foreign affairs and sanctioning the appointments of their elected chiefs, Siam protecting the Shan States of Chiengmai, or Zimmé; Lamphang Lakhon, or Lakon; Lampoonchi, or Lapoon; Muang Nan, or Nan; Muang Phrë, or Peh, or Prai, or Phray (these four States were comprised in the ancient kingdom of Zimmé, and Lakon and Lapoon still look up to Zimmé as their parent State, and in a vague manner are controlled by it); and Luang Prabang, or Hluang Prabang. In return for Siam’s protection against foreign invaders, these six States agreed to send triennial tribute to Siam in the form of gold and silver boxes, vases, and jewelled necklaces, together with curious gold and silver trees valued at from £15 to £35 each.

Trade between British Burmah and Siam and its Shan States may be said to date from the Anglo-Siamese treaty of 1855–56. Up to that time Europeans, descendants of Europeans, Burmese, and Peguans from British Burmah, were not allowed to enter the Siamese dominions for purposes of trade, although our native of India subjects were permitted to do so. Siam’s policy was simply that of perfect seclusion from her neighbours.

Next day Chow Oo-boon, accompanied by her eldest son Chow Sook Ka Same and her niece, the only child of the queen, returned our call, and were followed by a long train of attendants bearing silver-handled umbrellas, and gold betel-boxes, water-jars, and cigarette-platters. The son looked thirteen years of age, and the niece about two years younger. The missionaries said the children when grown up would make an excellent match, but they were doubtful whether the queen would consent to the union, as the father of the boy was not of royal blood. They were both very well behaved, and were evidently fond of Dr and Mrs M‘Gilvary. Chow Oo-boon had been the steady friend of the missionaries at Zimmé ever since the Mission had been founded.

This princess was no ordinary person, and her life was a romance. Highly intelligent, and a capital woman of business, a great trader, and the owner of large tracts of land, extensive teak-forests, and numerous elephants, serfs, and slaves, love was yet to her “the summer’s sun, nature gay adorning.” She was very amorously inclined, and during many years had given the queen great anxiety and trouble in controlling her headstrong fancies. Her first husband was the eldest son of the eldest son of a former King of Zimmé, and would have been on the throne had the rule of succession been the same as in Europe. Their only child, a daughter, is married to Chow Sing Kam, the eldest son of Chow Racha Boot, and therefore the grandson of the present king.

Since her first widowhood the princess had made several mésalliances with people not of the royal family, much to the annoyance of the queen, who not only refused to acknowledge the marriages, but removed the objects of her affection beyond her reach. At length Chow Oo-boon sought to foil her sister by selecting a wealthy Burmese timber-trader, over whom she thought the queen dare not exercise authority, as he was a British subject. Here she was mistaken. The queen had him apprehended and escorted to the frontier, where he was told that it would be well for him to keep away from Zimmé for the future. Not to be balked, as soon as this Burmese was over the border, she selected another, and began philandering with him.

The queen was now quite out of patience, so one dark night, when the Burman was on his way to the princess’s residence, he was waylaid and clubbed to death. Greatly enraged at this assassination, Chow Oo-boon is said to have done her utmost to have the matter brought to trial by the British authorities, who, however, considered it politic to pass it over. Years had passed since then, the sisters were reconciled, and Chow Oo-boon gave no more cause for anxiety, but expended her love and care upon the education of her children.

After chatting for a little while, the princess invited us to dinner on the following Saturday, March 1st, and said that, as we should be detained waiting for elephants for two, or perhaps three days, she had arranged for two of hers to be at our house the next morning to take us to the pagoda on Loi Soo Tayp; it would be a pleasant excursion for us, and I could get a fine view of the country from the enclosure.

Whilst we were talking, two of her ladies-in-waiting were crouched at her feet ready to hand her cigarettes or her betel-box, whilst others were seated on the staircase near the edge of the verandah, and a few were following the children, who with young M‘Gilvary were racing about the house and enjoying themselves. Before the princess left, I brought out some Maltese jewellery, and said I should be much pleased if she would accept it as a present. She admired the filigree-work, and was evidently much gratified, and asked me if I had a sister or a wife, as she would like to have embroidered shirts made for them if I thought they would be pleased with them. I said that my sister would be delighted to accept one, as she was very fond of beautiful things; and Shan embroideries, particularly the specimens seen at her house, were certainly exquisite in their design and workmanship.

When our visitors had gone, Mrs M‘Gilvary told me that the queen as well as the princess frequently visited her, and that her daughter, Mrs Cheek, at their request had made them full suits of European dress, and that they looked very well in them. I should think, however, that their handsome native costumes suit them much better, and it would be a pity to hide their feet in shoes or boots, for, like their hands, they are delicately formed—small and narrow, and decidedly pretty.

Next morning two male elephants with silver trappings, and roofed howdahs with beautifully carved frames, were led up to the verandah for us to mount. Mine was a very large one, measuring fully ten feet from the top of the shoulder to the ground, but rather awkward in its gait, which made it unpleasant to ride; Dr Cushing’s was slightly smaller, and more agreeable for riding. Ease in gait is one of the great considerations when hiring or purchasing an elephant to ride, for there is as much difference in their gait as there is in that of horses. One with pleasant paces and a swift walk always fetches a high price, and should walk fully four miles an hour, or double the pace of an ordinary elephant. Females are very often easier for riding than the males, but it is considered derogatory for a noble to be seen on one.

Having comfortably settled ourselves in our howdahs, with a tin of gingerbread nuts, a Chinese cosey-covered teapot, and an enamelled iron cup and saucer on each of our seats, and our lunch packed away under them, we started, and after crossing the river above the bridge, followed the road which skirts the northern moat of the city. In half an hour we passed the White Elephant Gate, the chief entrance to the city; and after traversing rice-fields for about an hour, we reached the foot of the hill, and commenced to ascend the spur by a path which runs between the aqueduct that supplies Zimmé with water, and Huay Kao, the parent stream. The foot of the hill lies four miles from the east end of the bridge.

To the north of the city, immediately bordering the road we had traversed, lay the remains of the ancient city of Kiang Yuen, which has perhaps given rise to the Zimmé Shans being known as Yuen Shans by the Burmese. I had no time to inspect the ruins, but noticed several large temples and pagodas. One of the latter, known as the Chinese pagoda, is peculiar in shape, being formed of five flattened balls of brick masonry, each diminishing at the top, and placed one above the other. It has no umbrella, or htee, at the top, and is said to have been erected by a Chinese general named Utau, when besieging the city some centuries ago.

Some distance beyond the city the road crosses the ramparts and moats of a large fort, which had been erected by the Burmese when they last besieged the city in 1776. This fort is now known as Muang Soon Dok, the town of the flower-garden. To the south of the fort, and between the city and Loi Soo Tayp, are the ruins of Muang La Maing, the ancient capital of the Lawas, of which nothing but the ramparts and ditches remain. It is upon the site of this city that Kun Ngu, the third son of Kun Lung, the chief of Muang Mau, is said to have built his capital. Kun Lung, according to the story of Muang Mau, which was translated by Mr Ney Elias, descended from heaven by a golden ladder into the Shweli valley, near Bhamo, in A.D. 568.

The ascent of the hill as far as the waterfall, which lies about a mile and a half from the foot of the hill, was easy, and from thence onwards the slope became rather steep. The aqueduct takes its water from the Huay Kao just above where the stream plunges over a ledge forming the crest of the fall, and a shelter for many small images that have been placed under it by pious pilgrims. A small temple containing a solitary image of Gaudama has been erected near the head of the fall.

Continuing the ascent along the bank of the torrent, which rushed, glistening and foaming, down its channel of bare granite rock, at eleven o’clock we reached the rest-houses at the foot of the knoll on whose crest the Mya Sapeet chedi, or pagoda of the Emerald Rice-bowl, is erected. The journey from the east end of the bridge had taken us four and a half hours, the distance being a little over eight miles.

Weary with the incessant rolling and jolting we had suffered from our long-legged, cumbersome beasts, we felt relieved from suffering as we stepped off the elephant’s head on to the verandah railing of one of the rest-houses, and threw ourselves down on the floor for a stretch whilst our breakfast was being prepared.

After our meal we ascended a long flight of steps, bordered by fine large pine-trees, to the enclosure containing the religious buildings. The avenue of pines was most likely planted by the Burmese when they built, repaired, or added to the pagoda in 1760. We found an inscription giving this date for the erection of the pagoda on a board in a corner of one of the buildings. The Shan history of Zimmé gives the date of the pagoda as 1790, but this evidently refers only to further additions or repairs.

The enclosure on the summit of the knoll is square, and surrounded by a roofed shed which faces inwards, and has an entrance-gate in the centre of each side. The pagoda is Burmese in design, about 50 feet high, covered with copper plates heavily gilded, and surrounded by a copper-sheathed iron railing. The pedestals at the four corners of the basement of the pagoda are coated with a glass mosaic of various colours, and facing each side of the pagoda is a temple containing an image of Gaudama. The walls and posts of the temples are richly decorated with designs in gold and vermilion. The platform of the enclosure is 1993 feet above the plain, and 3001 feet above mean sea-level. The summit of Loi Soo Tayp appeared to be about 3000 feet higher than the crest of the knoll.

From the entrances facing the plain, on a clear day the view must be magnificent; but at the time of our visit the hills on the other side of the plain were shrouded in haze, and we could only see the country for two or three miles beyond the town. The city and villages were hidden by the foliage, and the whole plain as far as we could see looked one great orchard of palm and fruit-trees, with here and there a narrow slip of rice-plain. Nothing can be more deceptive than travelling through such a country, the great hedges of fruit-trees and clumps of handsome bamboos that fringe the fields continually hiding the extent of the cultivation. In the fringes surrounding the fields, and in the beautiful groves that are scattered about, lie the houses of the villagers, making it simply impossible without a census to arrive, or even make a near guess, at the population.

Seeing one of the Ka-wat, or pagoda slaves, sweeping up some fallen leaves, Dr Cushing asked him to relate the legend of the pagoda, and the origin of its name. In reply, he told us that, long, long ago, a company of Pee, or spirits, brought five of the bowls which are used for begging by the monks, and offered them at the shrine. These were each of different colours—red, yellow, white, blue, and green—cut out of precious gems, and fitted one within the other; the green, or emerald bowl, containing the rest. The pagoda is therefore named “The Pagoda of the Emerald Rice-bowl.” He further assured us that the right name for Loi Soo Tayp was Loi Soo Tee, its name having originated from a white elephant that ascended the mountain, bearing sacred relics, exclaiming as he reached the top, “Soo Tee,” or “the place ends.”

The pagoda slaves are looked upon as outcasts by the remainder of the people, and are either the descendants of pagoda slaves, or have been dedicated to the service of the pagoda by their master on account of the merit accruing to the deed, or have been so dedicated as a punishment for crimes they have committed. Not even a king dare free a pagoda slave; for if he did so, he would after this life infallibly have to descend to the bottom of the most fearful hell. They are not only pagoda slaves and outcasts, but their posterity must remain so during the dispensation of Gaudama Buddha, embracing a period of 5000 years after his death, which is said to have occurred B.C. 543. Pagoda slaves may not be employed in any other work than keeping the shrine in order, and are obliged to present tithes of all they produce for the use and maintenance of the pagoda and its monks. On our return the journey took only three hours and a half, as the elephants went quickly down the hill, and were in a hurry to get home for their evening’s feed.

In the evening I besieged Dr M‘Gilvary, endeavouring to persuade him to accompany us to Kiang Hsen. I assured him that the journey should be no expense to his Mission, either for food or for elephants; that he would be of very great use in collecting information from the people; and that it would be delightful both for Dr Cushing and myself to have his company. He said that he was really unable to go with us on that journey, as his year’s supply of boots were on their way from Bangkok, and the ones he had would fall to pieces before he returned. I replied that I had two pairs of Walkingphast’s boots, which were quite new, and I should be so pleased if he would try them on; that they were spare ones; and that I should certainly not need more than one pair besides those I had in use; that his doing so would be an actual relief to me, as I felt that I was carrying about useless baggage. He was very shy of the offer at first; but I succeeded in talking his wife over, and she managed to persuade him not to disappoint us, and that the trip was exactly what his health required. I shall ever remember this good lady and her husband with pleasure, admiration, and gratitude. They were utterly unselfish in all their thoughts and actions, and quite untiring in heaping kindness upon us.

The following days I strolled about the place, and visited several of the Burmese foresters with Loogalay, who had been having a high time amongst them, but found they knew very little about any part of the country except in the regions where they worked their forests. They all lived in large substantial teak-built houses, and appeared to be well off, if one might judge by the liquors and other refreshments they placed on their table.

I learnt from them the Shan and Burmese names of many of the trees, which afterwards enabled me to record them in Burmese when only the Shan names were given me. Nothing strikes a traveller in Indo-China more than the extensive knowledge of the flora of the country possessed by the people. Not only can an ordinary villager tell you the names of the various plants and trees that you meet, but also their uses, whether as dyes, drugs, oils, or resins.

On expressing my surprise at there being so many temples and monasteries in the city and neighbourhood, they said that, although many had of late years been repaired by the Shans, nearly all of them had been built by the Burmese when governing the country from A.D. 1564 to 1774.