At Mûang Pōng, one of the three largest cities on the route, we again stopped over from Thursday night till Tuesday. Here I had an ague-chill on the night of our arrival, but, with free use of quinine and a little rest, I escaped further attack. There was a great deal of fever in the place, and I spent much time in ministering to the sick.
On Saturday I called upon the Prince and his chief officer. I was told that the city furnished five hundred men for the Chao Fā’s expedition, and had seventy villages within its jurisdiction. In former times it had been raided by an expedition from Nān, and some of the Nān villages to this day are peopled by descendants of those captives.
On Monday the Prince and his chief officer made us long calls. The Prince had never seen a repeating rifle, and seemed incredulous that it could fire twelve shots in unbroken succession, till I fired three by way of demonstration. His look of surprise was ludicrous. He must have the gun, he said, to protect his country, and began bidding for it. At last he offered a fine riding pony, which I accepted. He was delighted, saying that we two should always be brothers. If I should never come again myself, he would welcome and aid our assistants. Four years later I did visit the place, but the Prince had been killed.
On Tuesday we reached Mûang Māng, which proved to be one of our most hopeful places. Sitting in front of our tent, with the whole village about us, we talked till midnight. I had a sore throat, but our assistants were inspired with enthusiasm. At last we almost had to drive the crowd away.
Mûang Sing was the objective of this portion of our tour. I first became interested in it when it was about to be occupied as a dependency of the province of Nān. Mr. Phraner and I made an attempt to reach it in 1891, but were turned back. Then, again, it seemed about to fall into British hands, under some old claim by Burma. Even at the time we were there, its status was still uncertain. It gave evidence of having once been a large city, and still had a very large territory under its jurisdiction. Its earlier importance was reflected in the title borne by its ruler, Chao Fā—Lord of the Sky—a title borne by no other Lû ruler south of Chieng Rung. My interest in Mûang Sing had been deepened by acquaintance with a patient in the Chiengmai hospital, of whose case Dr. McKean has kindly furnished the following account:
“This Prayā Singhanāt, a prominent man in the local government, had been for years a great sufferer from vesical calculus and had tried all kinds of remedies without avail. Fearing his disease had been occasioned by offending the spirits in the building of a new house, he tore the house down. This gave him no relief. Although he had spent years in the monastery, and had taken all the degrees of the order, he concluded to re-enter it in the hope of being cured of his malady, spending again six months in the monastery. A travelling merchant who had himself been cured of calculus by an operation in the mission hospital in Chiengmai, advised the Prayā to go there for relief. This he determined to do, not without great opposition from the Prince and from his own family. But he was determined. He sold his possessions, and started with 800 rupees. His journey was long and painful. For weeks or even months at a time he could not travel on account of great pain. Once he was beset by dacoits at night. A part of his money and all his guns were stolen. When he finally reached Chiengmai twelve months after leaving home, he was penniless, and of course still suffering intensely. He was received into the mission hospital and was wholly relieved by an operation. A more grateful patient one rarely sees. He regularly attended service at the hospital and evinced great interest in Christianity.”
When we reached Mûang Sing, we were disappointed to find that the Prayā was away. But he had loudly sung the praises of the mission hospital, and that was a good introduction for us. The chief officer of the Court was a friend of his, and he proved to be a friend to us, too. Hearing that we were come, the Chao Fā sent for us, and turned out to be a relative of the great Chao Fā of Chieng Rung. Though not of a nature so deeply religious as some, he was interested in religion; and our reply to his first question as to the object of our visit, immediately introduced the subject.
At first he was inclined to cavil, asking such questions as, whether Jesus could rise in the air as Buddha did, and the like. But this was evidently to “save his face” before his officers. For a while he maintained that the universe is self-existent, having come into being by the concurrence of the matter which composes it. But presently he confessed that it is too complicated for that, and plainly shows design—that is, a mind or Mind. At last he asked what argument made us foreigners so certain of our view that we should come to ask them to change their religion for ours. We told him that Jesus Christ Himself was the all-sufficient argument. No matter how the world came into existence, we are here, and we all know that we are sinners. The Buddha confessed himself to be only a man, and himself seeking a refuge like the rest of us. Jesus Christ claimed to have come down from heaven, and to be the Son of God. He challenged the world to convince Him of sin. Those who knew Him intimately saw something in Him not only different and superior, but of a different kind. He showed this not only by His spotless life, but by the miracles that He wrought. He claims to have power to forgive sins. And thousands and millions who have accepted Him believe that He has forgiven them; and show that fact by becoming better men. We talked thus an hour and a half. He evidently felt the force of the arguments.
Sunday was the fifth-day market or fair—the largest and finest we had seen in the north. The hill-tribes, as usual, were out in full force. I was still suffering with sore throat, but Mr. Irwin and the assistants had a fine morning’s work, and in the afternoon had a fair attendance at the regular service.
One of the most interesting incidents of our stay was the night service, held in the residence of the Chao Fā at his express request on the evening before our departure. The audience was mainly his own family and dependents, and the Prince was more free than before. During the singing he asked that the cornet be stopped in order that he might hear the words more plainly. When Nān Suwan led in prayer, he wished to know if we always prayed in that way. There was the usual sad refrain—no hope of pardon, bondage to the spirits, the drawing to a better way, but so strong a counter-current! Yet who can tell how many, after all, the truth may have reached?