On Wednesday, after an early breakfast, Dr. Bradley accompanied me to our mission. My colleagues, McDonald, George, and Carden, were easily induced to consent. Mr. McDonald said that he would not go himself; but if I were willing to risk my family, he would not oppose the scheme, and would vote to have Mr. Wilson follow me the next year. Thus another obstacle was removed.
Taking Mr. McDonald and Mr. George with us, we proceeded next to the United States Consulate, where Mr. Hood readily agreed to give his official and personal aid. The two greatest obstacles remained yet: the Siamese government and—as it turned out in the end—the Lāo Prince[[7]] also. The Consul wrote immediately to the King, through our former Pechaburī friend, who had recently been made Foreign Minister, a formal request for permission to open a station in Chiengmai. It was Friday evening when the reply came that the decision did not rest with the King. He could not force a mission upon the Lāo people. But the Lāo Prince was then in Bangkok. If he gave his consent, the Siamese government would give theirs. He suggested that we have an audience with the Prince, at which His Majesty would have an officer in attendance to report directly to him.
[7]. The Lāo ruler was a feudal vassal of the King of Siam, governing an important frontier province, and granted, within that province, some of the powers which are usually thought of as belonging to sovereignty—notably the power of life and death in the case of his immediate subjects. His title, Pra Chao, like its English parallel, Lord, he shared with the deity as well as with kings; though the Kings of Siam claim the added designation, “Yū Hūa,” “at the head,” or “Sovereign.” By the early missionaries, however, he was regularly styled “King,” a term which to us misrepresents his real status, and which leads to much confusion both of personality and of function. Meantime both title and function have vanished with the feudal order of which they were a part, leaving us free to seek for our narrative a less misleading term. Such a term seems to be the word Prince, thus defined in Murray’s Dictionary (s. v. II. 5):—“The ruler of a principality or small state, actually, nominally, or originally, a feudatory of a king or emperor.” The capital initial should suffice generally to distinguish the Prince who is ruler from princes who are such merely by accident of birth.—Ed.
So on Saturday morning at ten o’clock we all appeared at the landing where the Lāo boats were moored, asking for an audience with the Prince. We were invited to await him in the sālā at the river landing. In a few moments His Highness came up in his customary informal attire—a phānung about his loins, no jacket, a scarf thrown loosely over his shoulders, and a little cane in his hand. Having shaken hands with us, he seated himself in his favourite attitude, dangling his right leg over his left knee. He asked our errand. At Mr. Hood’s request Dr. Bradley explained our desire to establish a mission station in Chiengmai, and our hope to secure his approval. The Prince seemed relieved to find that our errand involved nothing more serious than that. The mission station was no new question suddenly sprung upon him. We had more than once spoken with him about it, and always apparently with his approbation. To all our requests he now gave ready assent. Yes, we might establish ourselves in Chiengmai. Land was cheap; we need not even buy it. Timber was cheap. There would be, of course, the cost of cutting and hauling it; but not much more. We could build our houses of brick or of wood, as we pleased. It was explained, as he already knew, that our object was to teach religion, to establish schools, and to care for the sick. The King’s secretary took down the replies of the Prince to our questions. The Consul expressed his gratitude, and committed my family to his gracious care. We were to follow the Prince to Chiengmai as soon as possible.
Such was the outward scene and circumstance of the official birth of the Lāo mission. In itself it was ludicrous enough: the audience chamber, a sālā-landing under the shadow of a Buddhist monastery; the Consul in his official uniform; the Prince en déshabillé; our little group awaiting the answer on which depended the royal signature of Somdet Phra Paramendr Mahā Mongkut authorizing the establishment of a Christian mission. The answer was, Yes. I was myself amazed at the success of the week’s work. On the part both of the Siamese government and of the Lāo Prince, it was an act of grace hardly to be expected, though quite in keeping with the liberality of the truly great king who opened his country to civilization and to Christianity. And the Lāo Prince, with all his faults, had some noble and generous traits of character.
Later in the day I called alone to tell the Prince that as soon as I could after the close of the rainy season, I would come with my family. After the intense excitement of the week, I spent a quiet Sabbath in Dr. Bradley’s family, and on Monday morning could say, as did Abraham’s servant, “Hinder me not, seeing the Lord hath prospered me.” Taking the afternoon tide, I hastened home to report the success of my trip, to close my work in Pechaburī, and to make preparation for a new station, which was soon to be a new mission.
REV. DAN BEACH BRADLEY, M.D.
1872
KĀWILŌROT, PRINCE OF CHIENGMAI
(ABOUT 1869)